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laughingpinecone · 1 year

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Yuletide 2023 letter

AO3: laughingpineapple

(treats welcome, AO3 settings a-ok in that respect)

Hello and thank you for writing for me! I hope you’ll have a great time playing with one of these wonderful canons!

I love a wide variety of fics - from strict gen to explicit, any tense, any format, big yes to all kinds of weird experiments up to and including external povs, found documents, interactive fiction etc. In general, I love canon expansion (showing new places/events/stuff in the setting or exploring those that are barely mentioned, just outside the borders), character work of all stripes (expanding on little quirks, putting characters in situations that complement/challenge certain personality traits of theirs, just… observing these weirdos as they live their lives, for better and for worse), magical realism and adjacent approaches. I eat up emotional moments with a spoon when a fic is character-centric (pining! danger! catharsis! hurt/comfort! the nitty-gritty of attraction!) and also love abstract stuff that at most touches shrimp emotions from afar: fake academia, a wider focus, inhuman povs, anything goes.

For both romance and friendships, I love it when it’s clear (not necessarily to the characters themselves, but to the narrative) what it is that they like about each other, how they get along, if and how they trust each other. The specificity of each dynamic! I also love it when the characters are very into something that makes sense for them, be it a hobby or a kink or whatever, even if it’s something I may not personally care for.

DNW: non-canonical rape, non-canonical children, focus on children, pregnancies, unrequested ships (background established canon couples are okay, mentions of parents and paired-up OC randos are okay!), canon retellings

Ghost Trick and Pyre are old staples, prompts and musings in my old letters always apply! There's some PJÕL too in the last two. And now, in strict alphabetical order and with the usual disclaimer that shorter prompts don’t mean I want it any less:

GHOST TRICK (Cabanela, Jowd)

I'm into Alma/Jowd/Cabanela or Alma/Jowd&Cabanela, or any Jowd/Cabanela that doesn't downplay/erase the canon relationship (anything set during the game timeline or in alternate scenarios where they don't reset, for example!), or even one-sided on Cabs' end and Jowd caring for him in a different way, or a Very (Very) Intense Friendship. Shippy or not, for me the draw is that these two are an unstoppable/immovable pair of burning determination and cosmic pessimism, big on loyalty (or at least being on the receiving end of it in Jowd's case) and being two difficult individuals who can and do get on people's nerves in record time but just fit with each other so easily… and ace the broccoli test like nbd. when they want to. which they might not. In Sissel's own words, whatever these two have got going on, warm or cold, it's "immeasurably deep" and I love to see that OTT play out in any way. And feel free to add anyone else in the tagset if your idea leads you that way, I love them all dearly. Pigeon Man, for example - we only see his grump complement Cabanela's energy, but how does he play off Jowd, toward whom he is extremely loyal? Alma, of course, what's your take on her, there are so many great possibilities - could she be as cheerfully nihilistic as her husband, when push comes to shove? Or what about Missile the little warrior with his own brand of unstoppability? Is there a supernatural/ghostly situation Jowd and Cabanela (and Alma? or Lynne? Sissel?) walk into that sees them well on top of their game thanks to their experience with the friendly ghost cat in the house? Or something eerie that's out of their wheelhouse even with Sissel's ghost tricks? What about a beach day but also a hiking trip, snowed in, anything? Dancing? Does Cabanela fail to remain spotless in any sense, ranging from oily bike repairs to more serious symbolic scenarios?

Ship-wise, Jowd falling in love fascinates me. Cabanela feels like he's been down bad for an impossible target for some time (or two, conveniently married to each other) but for Jowd it all comes at such an awkward moment. He was ready to die and hurt them all posthumously (with the music box twist) to make it easier for them to leave him behind, and now what's this? He may not even have considered being into men before, what's that like, when does he realize that that's what's happening? Then it turns out his old friend laid down his life for him??? wild. and then he's ten years younger again, with a loving family and a Sparklesue of a friend-colleague-rival, and all these memories…

Fandom-specific DNWs: Cabanela-Yomiel reconciliations, everyone having memories of the old timeline

PÜHA JA ÕUDNE LÕHN | SACRED AND TERRIBLE AIR (Ignus Nilsen)

So there's this man of extremes (even for Elysium standards) who lived and fought for the burning belief in a better world, who left his homeland with a double middle finger and somehow, in a foreign land, grew devoted to a good man and his ideals and theory, their theory, and then lost him and their hope at once, and still tried to keep going, to begin anew, and failed there too, and even after his death in exile his beliefs did not waver. Always a live wire. He loved the world, every atom of it. A man whose devotion was so intense that it had to be erased from history, giving birth to a different legend instead. As a friend once put it, the spectre of communism is real and he's a bitter old queen.

I ship him and Mazov very much (dialectically, ideologically, handholdingly, through the ages and in the eternity of the pale, everything he says about the man sounds like the yearning of a sad old lover), and Mazov himself I love in every aspect. If you go down this path, I'm good with period-typical internalized homophobia being a thing in the fic. INTENSE HANDHOLDING ACTION very welcome. Also in-universe Mazov/Nilsen academic discussion, earnest sculptors, zines etc. But also: Ion Rodionov thirdwheeling into their life like a stray cat and supporting their idea even knowing that it would fail is amazing. The fact that Nilsen indulged his whims in their exile (the orchestra, really?) and presumably got his apocalyptic moniker from him (we know that it's because he warned people of the apocalypse) paints an interesting friendship to me, especially in the raw times after Mazov's death. The Zigi&Nilsen camping trip is a delight and I'll always want more of that, and of Zigi himself, and of what Nilsen saw in him, and the other way round. Or what about the time Zigi spent with the Lund sisters while Nilsen went ballistic over teen girl mags, 'cause that sure was something canon felt the need to inform us of. Idk how to fit in Tereesz but if they met I'm sure it'd make for an interesting conversation. And rounding up the tagset IT'S AMBROSIUS WITH A STEEL CHAIR omg best tagset surprise ever. I am incredibly fascinated both by Nilsen's (and Zigi's!) opinions on the ruling Innocence, and by the possibility that bb Ambrosius may have met all the future heads of the Revolution when he was being tutored by Ion, and/or that the failure of the Revolution may have been a turning point in his beliefs. Outside the tagset, anything with Sport is bound to be terribadamazing bc Sport, and Ukhotomsky was around as another of Mazov's close friends but was the exact opposite of Ignus so that could make for interesting scenarios.

Some prompts: does his consciousness in the pale (subjectively either before or after his adventure with Zigi) meet some interesting people à la Nadia n Frantiček the Brave - "5 historical figures he met who are not Mazov + 1 long-awaited reunion" sort of thing? Some examples of Teachers Being Like That feat. him and Rodionov? Sitcom-tier shenanigans with the upper echelons of the revolution + that kid with the rancid vibes that Ion brought in? In case Nilsen's canon lil treatise on "early homebrewing" referred to tabletop homebrewing, what did their gaming look like - was it an early form of roleplaying proper or, like, reconceptualizing chess or Monopoly? What about any of his exiles, given how he was first thrown out of Katla, then Graad, then they tried to kill him in Samara too and he spent his last days in exile and according to a throwaway line he counts as one of Elysium's great disappearances (does Khan have some fun intel on all that, or maybe Ulv)? Did the various pale crossings mess him up? What about the crossing of the lungs of Graad, toward the interisolary pale, with the blood of thousands of prisoners still fresh behind them? Or how'd he take his hut era, when did those feral months in the polar wilderness happen in his timeline, what kind of weirdness can we expect above Elysium's polar circle, did he have Mazov to return to in Graad and just how emotional can we make this reunion? Any scenario like "idk, Kras Mazov was like 70% of my impulse control"? What was it like, gaining consciousness in the near pale and becoming more than Zigi's dialectic frenemy (or was there always a glimpse of him)? Did they feel uniquely cut off from the pale that surrounded them? Did they ever talk about Ambrosius? Did he ever pull off some other godly rhetoric stunt like reverting the pale through stubbornness and conviction alone? Some identity musings based on all three heads of the revolution going under new names, and considering them nom de guerre? Something about Ignus' troubled relationship with his homeland - as it goes, he fought hard to deny the Vaasan allegations and Vaasa fought harder to deny the him allegations? What about his blacksmithing skills (and what makes one an apocalyptic blacksmith, specifically - how do these two things go together)? Or any of his numerous Opinions which he penned on so many topics? Or just slap him (in person or cytoplasmically, 's not like death or censorship could stop him) in a Situation that has some weird worldbuilding in it?

Fandom-specific DNWs: that reddit theory about Målin being pregnant with Zigi's child. I'm open to a variety of options for the sisters' disappearance but should it come up I would prefer if it were their decision to vanish, a decision dictated by some kind of (non-bourgeois) ideology, and for Zigi to be loyal to all four of them. I would also prefer Nilsen's big hangup about his fellow communists to follow the translation which sees them as "prey" rather than "beasts". Relatedly, should it come up, "Failure. Failure shapes the world" rather than "Futility". And please do not excuse his grandiose shittiness. The misogyny is what it is and ditto the war crimes, etc.

PYRE (Volfred Sandalwood)

I’m so charmed by this smug revolutionary tree it’s not even funny. Make up any situation in which he can do his thing and I’ll be happy - be sort of full of himself but also sort of rightfully so, pragmatic to a fault except when he’s overwhelmed by grief, bearing the burden of taking care of the practical side of an impossible shared vision (and seeing it fail before it started and eventually picking up the pieces and starting again), long-winded and very much in love with his voice (also rightfully so) and also that’s what history professors are like, extremely charismatic, a mind reader with a higher calling which is always a dangerous combo when it comes to maybe going a step too far. I love this story set at the end of a cycle and I’m enamoured with characters who have enough historical awareness to acknowledge it and see that it’s up to them to bring about a new era. Canon’s bittersweet idealism is catnip to me.

I love him with Tariq who seems to be as charmed by him as I am (the shy, vague title of Volfred’s theme combined with its James Bond vibes are a killer combo. Tariq please) and with Oralech who’s maybe the only guy who can go “Volfred no” when needed. With oldest friend Bertrude with all the camaraderie it entails and all the Nightwings, really. Volfred & Hedwyn! & Rukey! & Pamitha! & ae!!!

I would also be interested in seeing him face people from the other triumvirates in more or less friendly situations - generally sticking close to canon for the level of danger they might pose. Volfred & Dalbert bonding and fanboying the Scribes on one end; Udmildhe maybe being a real actual threat on the other end, with Extreme Sap Drama Volfred VS Manley somewhere in the middle - Volfred haaates having to deal with Manley and what is fanfiction for if not bothering our faves? Or Volf VS Brighton for that matter, with more intense levels of annoyance and pomp and juicy ideological clashes. In these cases I wouldn’t be interested in a reconciliation, and I don’t sympathize with Manley nor Brighton but I do find them very funny and good characters in their own right and I’m just here with popcorn for the catfight. How’d it go if he had to spend some time with Ignarius? Or Celeste? And of course when it comes to the True Nightwings, things get loaded - Volfred/Oralech-wise, does Volfred get a treacherous "oh no he's super hot now" moment sneaking in between the piles of complicated feelings and hurt and confusion?

As general Volf prompts: revolutionary bonding, be it with Oralech (early on or after everything), or awakening Some Things in Tariq, or Bertie or anyone else who'll share that vision. Downside ending being a strange kind of freedom for someone who's been driven all his life. Opinions on the Scribes! Overly detailed, strong Opinionssss on tiny details like you'd expect from your average academic, and whom is he talking to? Someone who agrees? Someone who knows more than him (Tariq, ae…)? Someone who hates those guys' guts (Sandra, Oralech…)? He’s a natural schemer, does he naturally assume that everyone else is also scheming 24/7? Does anyone (my bet’s on Pam) find out that he literally graded the Nightwings’ usefulness to the Plan? Is he a chain smoker or is it a one pipe a day kind of deal?

I don’t have specific headcanons about Sap biology; if you do, please tell me all about them. With or without Tariq’s or Oralech’s involvement (whose biology is probably also delightfully weird). Capital-letter-Reading can also be involved! What’s it like to mind-meld with the actual moon, or to get permission from the guy who spent like six years hating your guts?

Ships: Volfred/Tariq, Volfred/Oralech, Volfred/Oralech/Tariq. I also like Pamitha/Bertrude and Celeste/Jodariel.

Fandom-specific DNWs: Oralech dead, Volfred and Oralech split end (I’m good with either topside or downside ending), Ignarius/Jodariel, Tariq/Celeste. The Reader being a central character in the fic.

THE SEA WILL CLAIM EVERYTHING (Any: The Mysterious-Druid, Niamh, Worldbuilding)

I got to play this game at last and I LOVE it. I'm in that starstruck-and-with-nobody-to-talk-about-it phase where I don't have many thoughts but I'd be over the moon to get anything that's vaguely in the tone of canon. Earnest, dreamy, filled with mushrooms… I'm familiar with the Postcard From Afthonia epilogue but not really with the rest of the Kyratzes' oeuvre - feel free to reference other stuff as long as it's in a way that'll make sense to a newbie reader! Or if it's something from the Oneiropolis Compendium, just drop me a line in the opening notes and I'll get caught up. In particular, I found the mentions of Oneiropolis proper very intriguing, in a certain 'classic fantastical literature' way, and I'd love to follow a beloved character like The a/o Niamh a/o anyone else on a trip there, but I don't know if there are works set there yet. An evening in Underhome, during the war? Some druiding stuff, The's addition to Underhome? Niamh's side of research (I love her so! This is what the ideal woman looks like, honestly)? Something dialectical, something marxist AND fungal? Any character visits Underhome? Or the library? Or the Isle of the Stars? I really like the Oracle, but anyone really. Everyone's really cool. If you can find a structure that'll accommodate a bunch of fun descriptions and asides, and let's not forget the mouse's opinions, that could be fun!

youtube

THE STRAIGHT STORY (Deer Woman) (technically a 5 minutes fandom since the above scene is all you need to know)

I recently caught a screening and was once again fascinated by that one standalone scene with the woman who seems cursed to hit deer with her car. Asking "so… what's up with that" felt like a Yuletide thing to do, so here I am! Please tell me anything about the woman who seems cursed to hit deer with her car! I'm open to all possibilities when it comes to the source of this peculiar predicament of hers, future developments, and her own psychological state. Feel free to get weird about it, of course - be it in a specifically lynchian, etherealwhooshy way or otherwise. Is this supernatural event vaguely & mysteriously grounded in some psychological issue of hers, reflecting her inner turmoil (what is it?), or is it a broader thing she got caught up in? Or is it a deer thing about deer? Twin Peaks crossovers welcome if that's where your imagination leads you (I'm familiar with the entire extended canon). Or Mulholland Drive or any other Lynch idk, it just feels kind of peaksy more than anything else, what with the, well, deer.

#letter #tis the season

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scarletooyoroi · 1 year

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Are you happy with how your favorite canon muse was portrayed in canon? In what fandom did you start? What’s something you find weird on here?

Are you happy with how your favorite canon muse was portrayed in canon?

I want to personally take advantage of making this Genshin-esque, primarily for Thoma's case!

While I'm certain you know quite well, I'm on the fence with Thoma's presentation in the story. Though, this leans in with a lot of the Archon Quest's execution in Inazuma in general.

When it comes to him being a character, how he acts and the things he does, absolutely love it. He really holds a noble brand of heart despite the more mischievous routes he'd take to accomplish his means. I say it makes for a really fun character to interact with, whether it's the approach of sweet and sentiment, to thorny, to outright confrontational. A wide lens of muses can create different interactions with him.

Though as for his place in the story? For the set up they gave him, I genuinely wished he was a more active force in terms of helping the Traveler and the Vision Hunt effort, as in with his whole ass body being there and suffering, thriving and working alongside the others.

While I'm not trying to have him say take a 5-Star's shine in term of story significance, the actions Thoma incited that day with this newly established ceremony would be an act that causes ripples all throughout Inazuma and the Shogunate faithful. I'd love to see the long lasting effects of such actions, compared to the 'neat and tidy' way they just cleaned it all up.

And by clean up, simply pretended all of that strife and struggle just didn't exist.

It would create some meaningful interactions for a lot of the cast if they could've swam through the situation and the many side instances it generated.

What’s something you find weird on here?

I'll take this question as for the state of RPCs in general on tumblr.

While I don't necessarily see this anymore as I'm apt at culling the content I see. It's two things. One was more primary here in my earlier experiences, and it was this sense of ~False Positivity~ that ran heavily rampant to the point it made my head feel nauseated. It really made some of my experiences/interactions here not only feel hollow, but always made me second guess if people were trying to learn/get close to me for some other reason outside of just sitting here and rp'ing.

It was also this oddly alienating thing at the same time?? Like if you didn't conform to this style of behavior, you really could find yourself tossed to the wayside.

Another element use to be vaguing in general. Never got involved with it, never intend too, but that was a Really easy way to make me go and avoid someone for the long term. It really fed into the atmosphere of just getting people paranoid. In turn, I've come to see a lot of communities just devolve into fighting for xyz pointless reason when more popular heads were swept into that kind of momentum.

Both of these examples pretty much boil down too, it was taking too many elements of the 'social' aspect of RP and bastardizing them, instead of this just being a simple hobby that people can relax and enjoy after their day.

@reginrokkr

#reginrokkr #| Tucked Letters #| Meme #This one took the interesting spin lol #got a bit of my salt on out

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reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

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hi i saw that your requests are open for the night for that list and i feel like 15&35 with spencer might be all i need to survive

anyways i’m on anon bc i’m scared you’ll hate this request but just know your writing is my favorite i would read your grocery lists at this point

excuse me i love this request please do not disparage yourself ever again <3 that’s the loveliest thing anybody has ever said to me and i will now think of you and this compliment whenever i write a grocery list

Ship: GN! (wears a bra, no mention of gender other than this) Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mentions of canon-typical case things, pining, mild thievery.

Word count: 2.4k

Prompts: #15 - "You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

#35 - “Well fuck, didn’t expect to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

A/N: This got so ungodly long I’m so sorry I don’t even know if I can call this a blurb at this point it’s a full fic but I loved this idea so much and it ran away from me.

PLEASE let me know what you think because I bashed this out in the span of an hour and I’m not sure if I love or hate it.

Rossi’s spitballing theories behind you. Your head lolls on the desk, feeling far too heavy to attempt lifting up at this time of night. The case was hard, you were sleeping in shifts, and somehow you, Rossi, and Reid had drawn the short straw. Your eyes are blearing a little too much to make out the exact time on the clock, it’s on the opposite side of the room and your eyes burn when you squint to look at the time; you’re fairly certain you’re somewhere on the wrong side of 3am.

23 hours awake.

Sighing, you push yourself up, looking around and only now noting that Spencer isn’t in the room. He must have made his exit while you were flicking through the files making notes, it was often easier to do that with your headphones in.

Thankfully, you'd set up shop in a conference room at the hotel, given the local PD was tiny and barely equipped to handle its own officers.

“What about the meat packing district?” Rossi muses.

It’s a rhetorical question but one you actually have an answer to, “I don’t think so. The busiest part of the city is between the meat packing district and where he’s dumping the bodies. Cops do random stop-and-searches sometimes, I don’t know if he’d risk it.”

“He could drive around.”

You frown, thinking, “He’d be crossing state lines. Hey, wait,” You stand up from your chair, walking to the board and starting drawing circles that illustrate your point, “Spencer thought there must be a pattern, right? But it died off here and we didn’t know about any more victims. If we expanded the search to outside of state lines it might connect here, here, and here,” You circle each here with a point, tapping the pen against the board triumphantly.

Rossi smiles, “Good thinking kid. I’ll call Garcia.”

Exhausted from your breakthrough, you flop back down into the chair. The clothes you’ve been wearing are icky, uncomfortable with sweat and flying and you’re strongly regretting your choice in underwear now too.

You hear the door swing open, looking up to see Spencer entering the room. Holding your go-bag. The one you’d left on the jet this morning. The jet that was a two hour drive from your current location.

“Where did you? When did you?” Your incoherency is related to both your tiredness, and his thoughtfulness.

He smiles, “It took some calling around but I found a cab driver willing to go and pick it up. It just got here.”

“Spencer I-,” You start, scrambling to your feet to accept the bag he’s offering to you, “Thank you. That’s so sweet of you. How much was the cab?”

“Don’t worry about it,” He says, handing it to you and heading over to the board, “What are these?”

Rossi - who was watching the exchange with some amusement - starts explaining the eureka moment you’d had. Spencer nods along, turning to smile at you when Rossi credits the thought to you. It’s something he does a lot, Rossi’s noticed. Not in a condescending way, Spencer knows more than anyone just how capable you are at your job. It’s as if he needs to channel his love for you somewhere, and chooses pride. It’s the easiest one to explain, after all, because who isn’t happy for their colleague making breakthroughs?

That’s how Spencer justifies it anyhow.

You leave the room, heading to the bathroom to change. You’re incredibly grateful to slip out of your dirty clothes and the bra that’s cutting into you, so much so that you decide to pop on a t-shirt under your blazer. The sports bra and t-shirt combo revitalises you more than you thought possible for this hour.

Digging through, you find an item that you didn’t pack. A pair of brown fluffy slippers. Attached to them, a note, ‘I thought the heels on your boots looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t want your feet to hurt. - Spencer.

He signed the note. Something about that, alongside the gift itself, sends a flush of warmth through you.

He gave you his slippers

So?

Is that something friends do?

Wracking your brain, you try to think up if he’d do this for anyone else. Hotch? The thought makes you laugh. Emily? Maybe, actually. If she didn’t make it so hard for others to take care of her. Penelope? Almost definitely.

Your heart sinks a little, and you distract yourself by fumbling to get your work boots off and the slippers on.

It doesn’t matter it isn’t romantic, it matters that he did it.

It matters to every other person you date

He sets an impossibly high bar

Thankfully, the late hour means that there aren’t many local PD still hanging around to see your interesting choice of shoe. You slip through to the conference room, where Spencer and Rossi are huddled over the phone talking to Garcia.

Spencer does a double-take. He knew the gift he’d given you, but he hadn’t expected to see you...wearing them? You look beautiful: hair mussed from fiddling with it, an old college t-shirt under your blazer, brown fluffy slippers on your feet. The mix of professional and homely attire does something to him that he can’t quite explain, and he has to clear his throat before making his next point to Garcia.

Did he just blush?

You try not to stare at him, try not to see if that’s a tinge of red creeping up under his turtleneck.

It is.

“Thanks Garcia,” Rossi clips, hanging up the phone, “I’m going to go and find some coffee. You two,” He points, looking knowingly between you, “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

No sooner has Rossi left the room, you both try speaking at once.

“You look-” He starts.

“Thank you so-” You start.

You both tinge with warmth.

“You go first,” He says, gnawing at his plump lower lip, finger turning oer the pen in his hand.

You laugh, a little breathless, “Well fuck, I wasn’t expecting to be announcing my undying love for you this early in the morning.”

His eyebrows quirk, is that...hope?

No. Wishful thinking

It’s probably confusion, and you’re a little embarassed, so you quickly clarify, “I mean Spencer Reid this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. I’m endebted to you forever, really.”

A look washes over him: disappointment? You can’t trust your eyes to see the clock, so you feel you can’t entrust them to analyse his micro-expressions right now either. Especially when you’re biased by personal desire.

“It’s no problem,” He says, voice cracking a little, “You look...” He trails off.

“Unprofessional?” You suggest, teasing.

He shakes his head, swallowing, “You look really nice.”

It’s your turn to swallow. You drop your gaze to the pen, feeling too flustered to continue looking your colleague in the eyes at this moment in time, “Thank you. Where did you get slippers at this time of night?”

He shifts, one hand settling over the wrist of the other and fingers nervously rubbing over the back of his hand, “They were uhm. They were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” It comes out pitchy, a squeak, “I’m sorry, that’s probably weird I just thought-”

“No, Spence,” You say, looking up at him and giving him a genuine smile, “No, it’s really sweet. I’m really lucky to have you.”

He gives his signature tiny tight-lipped smile, the one he gives when he’s feeling awkward or suppressing something he wants to say but can’t.

Please let it be the latter.

You relinquish him of the obligation of responding, instead standing to join him at the board, “You think you’ve got enough to make a geographical profile out of this?”

He nods, tapping the board with his pen, “Your idea about crossing interstate lines was really smart.”

“I have my moments.”

He wants to tell you that everything you have is a moment. You want to step closer, to cup his face in your hands, to press a kiss to the lips that you swear are pouting, begging to be kissed. You don’t.

Namely, because Rossi chooses this moment to re-enter the room, clutching three cups of coffee, “A little help here?”

From the way you spring apart, despite not even being that close, he wishes he’d taken a little longer. Damn kids and their inability to express their feelings for one another.

***

It’s 4:30am when the alarm on your phone goes off. With the work of the four of you - Garcia sporadically included when she had genius updates - you’ve managed to uncover a pattern that arches across states. You’d called Hotch, who’d commended the good work and advised that you should head to bed at 4:30. The others would get up then, and start to head out to the different potential crime scenes. Local PD was already on it.

You’d been told under no uncertain terms that you were to rest until at least 10am. Unless there was a call from Hotch. You prayed there wouldn’t be.

Rossi’s off the minute the alarm rings, bustling out the door with a “See you later kids.”

You wait behind while Spencer packs his things into his satchel. Or rather, unpacks his things from his satchel, frantically tearing it apart.

“What are you looking for?” You ask.

“My key card,” He murmurs, “I swear it was in my wallet.”

“You were rooming with Morgan, right? Want me to call him?”

“Yes please,” He says, continuing to unearth the contents of his bag onto the desk, with an increasing degree of agitation every second that goes by.

You dial Morgan’s number, and he answers after two rings, “Hey kid.”

You put the phone on loudspeaker.

“Hey. I’m with Spencer, we’re about to head up to our rooms for the night, are you still here? He can’t find his keycard.”

He lets out a breath of air through his teeth, “Sorry, I’m already on my way to one of the crime scenes. Local PD found a body over the state line. Nobody’s at the hotel but you guys and Rossi.”

Spencer outwardly sighs.

“No problem, we’ll figure something out.”

“Alright, good work kid, get some rest.”

The phone line clicks. Spencer’s brow is pinched with frustration, and your heart breaks for him. You’ve all been awake well over 24 hours, and he looks exhausted. He’s more eyebag than man at this point.

“Do you want me to go to the front desk?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “Reception doesn’t open until 6am. I’ll just wait here until then.”

He starts packing the belongings back into his bag, a resigned look on his face. And you have an idea.

“Actually,” You say, pulling the keycard out of your pocket and sliding it across the table to him, “You’ve just won one free pass to my bedroom.”

He picks the card up, squinting in confusion.

“Me and Rossi both got put in single rooms. I mean, it might not be the most comfortable thing in the world, both of us in a single bed, but it’s better than nothing right?”

He opens his mouth to object, and you shake your head.

“Spence you look like you’re about to drop unconscious on the floor and I don’t want to be responsible for yet another injureid.”

You’re so tired that the pun seems hilarious to you, and it does elicit a small laugh from him.

“Come on, it’s either share a bed with me, share a bed with Rossi, or try to sleep in one of these chairs. And I’ll be honest, I’d be kind of offended if you’d rather either of the other two options.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” He says, obviously warming up to the offer but not wanting to push his luck. You can hear the hesitancy in his voice.

“You can. But you won’t,” You tell him, settling your go-bag on your shoulder, “And might I remind you that all this time you’re spending objecting are minutes we could be spending sleeping.”

That seems to win him over. He tucks everything back into his bag, zipping it up, “After you.”

“You have the keycard,” You smile, “After you.”

***

The bed is a single bed. It prompts another round of ‘No really, I can sleep on the floor’ from Spencer, your enquiries about if it’s too much for his germaphobia or issues with touching, and his blushy embarassed reassurance that he doesn’t mind if it’s you.

He doesn’t mind if it’s you.

Not as if you’ll spend the next year mulling over those words or anything.

When you get out of the bathroom from changing, Spencer is tucked up in bed. Well, you say tucked up, but he’s practically lay right on the edge. How he’s actually physically still being supported by the mattress at this point must be his physics magic.

“I thought I said I didn’t want you getting injured,” You say, crossing the room to him.

He opens his eyes, “I didn’t want to-”

“It’s okay Spence,” You tell him, huddling down into bed.

There’s about enough room for you both to fit in, with an inch between you, so you pull gently at his arms, urging him closer.

“There’s enough room for us both without you going flying in the night,” You tell him.

He nods, obviously still a little nervous. It’s odd, lying face to face with him, illuminated only by lamplight. He looks soft. He always does, but there’s something intimate about this. You can feel his breath fan across your cheek, can feel how heat radiates off his arms.

“Do you want me to turn the lamp off?” He asks.

It’s not your staring that implores him to ask, because he’s been staring at you too. The both of you, trapped in a perfect bubble of a moment. Lamplight a spotlight, highlighting all the features of the person you love most.

“Sure,” You whisper, breath catching in your throat.

He flicks it off, settling back down.

His breath brushes against your face when he asks, “Do you want me to turn around?”

“Do you want to?”

He hesitates for a moment, voice even softer when he answers, “No.”

It’s dark. You can hardly make out his outline. Yet somehow, you both just know. Shifting, infitismally closer. Breaching the tiniest gap between you somehow feels like crossing the Grand Canyon. Your heart thumps in your chest, and you can feel it in your fingers, the fingers that trace cautiously along his jaw.

His mouth finally, finally, slotting against yours in the most gentle of kisses. A blink and you’d miss it.

And yet, in the same blink, your life changes forever.

When Rossi makes a speech at your wedding, he admits to being the thief of the missing keycard, and intentional orchestrator of the greatest love story he’s ever known. His words.

---

Permanent tagslist: @reidingmelodies @takeyourleap-of-faith @sassiest-politician @calm-and-doctor @ssa-m-187 @seasonfivereid @averyhotchner @muffin-cup @purplewaterbottles082 @spencerreid9 @drspencerreidd @reidsnose

(message/reply to this to be added or removed!!)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #reid x reader #imagine spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #imagine criminal minds #criminal minds x you #spencer reid fluff #can't believe queue've done this

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wowsoboring · 3 years

Text

Deconstructing Baseless Harry Potter Arguments#2 (i) : Harmione Edition

Obviously I once again do not mean to target all Harmione shippers. I know quite a few who're very good human beings and tolerant and accepting above all. However these aren't. In this case, you might sense quite a bit of levelheadedness in the beginning, however you must not be fooled as it goes south and takes a nasty turn very quickly. Don't get your hopes up, this is some of the worst shit I've ever seen, especially the way in which it progresses through its course. Naturally, for this post I have picked my own style of writing which will match that of those redditors. Reddit is the perfect breeding ground for all these weird cults, honestly. I shall be resorting to a formal language and style of conversation, very much like a debater would to sound as pretentious as these do. These posts are found on the instagram handle toxicharmonyshippers who gather such toxic musings and sayings for Harmione shippers while respecting the ones that are nice.

Oh yes, let's use words like 'vehemently' to sound smart, why not? Of course, this little tidbit of the highly stupendous post seems more or less civil at the start. They also have the common decency to say "some Romione shippers" rather than generalizing all of us. Very nice of you, how very saint like. Let's wait till they drop the act and show us their true colors. Harkening back to the argument, I have but one question for you, "where do you find these people?". Where's the proof? Who are these radical Romione shippers who worship Ron and dislike Hermione? I haven't seen any such shippers and I am surrounded by Romione shippers on tumblr, instagram and fan fiction sites as well and haven't met the people you speak of. Some point out her flaws, yes, but no one hates her or dislikes her that much. I have seen two or three Romione shippers across hundreds and thousands who're skeptical of Hermione's perfection. Skeptical. Not hating, disliking, or anything. Of course, unlike this person, I have evidence: find these pi charts for your referral (clickable): https://imgur.com/a/QfPnQbB

you can, through these, see the amount of Hermione bashing across Harry Potter fanfiction and you can see that even in Romione fanfiction there's more Ron bashing. Hermione-bashing is a non-issue. That's what it is. Regarding the "nagging" statement, where's the lie in that? "Annoying" is somewhat subjective, I personally don't find her annoying at all. Who are these people and how often do you find them? "Mary Sue" is only reserved for Movie!Hermione. I have only seen book fans call her that. No one has ever called Book!Hermione Mary Sue. The movie does paint her as a flawless, all-rounder who's also drop-dead gorgeous. Only things she's bad at are flying and divination, all of which she denounces as useless, even though flying is like biking for wizards, divination, sure, not that important. with a teacher like Trelawney, even I would denounce it as hokum.

Remember what I said about waiting for them to show us their true colors, well here they are. Bask in the glory of their senseless arguments. Why, I am from reddit, heck I have 25 thousand karma points on there, I just left because it was too stupid for me but I can argue like them very well. And in this case I would like to say that these people are under the impression that Ron is just there in the story for the sake of existence. And he doesn't work hard. That argument is of course, wrong. Because Ron (in no particular order):

1) fights a troll when he's 11

2) is willing to sacrifice himself when he's 11

3) stands up for his friends

4) makes sure Harry feels like he belongs in the family

5) worries about Harry and rescues him from literal jail

6) stands up against Draco rather than by-standing and enabling his behavior

7) tries his level best to make sure Norbert the dragon is in safe hands and carries it out, albeit not in perfection

8) is with Harry every step of the way in his confronting the basilisk

9) sends Harry and Hermione long letters and calls them often to check up on them

10) stands up on a bitten leg to defend his best friend

11) always apologizes for any of his mistakes and is forgiving when others wrong him

12) works his way to join the Quidditch team unlike Draco who most certainly bought his way in

13) destroys at least 2 horcruxes

14) finds out how to defeat a horcrux

15) has an excellent enough memory and observation to notice Harry speaking parseltongue and also using it to his benefit which proves he's resourceful

now since I have 8 more such pictures to rebut and I do have a life, I will stop. These aren't even a twelfth of the remarkable things Ron has done though, so rest assured.

oh wait what did you say about him just existing and not working for anything? If I recall correctly, he did just as well as Harry did in school and didn't score well only in subjects he didn't care about. Which is true for most people except for Hermione who has an eidetic memory which not everyone has, understandably. Rote memorization is not the best way to get by in life, by the way.

what are the "so many reasons" behind why Harry is the best fit for Hermione? Kindly share so I can rebut those too, I'm rather free nowadays, my finals have been cancelled. You say there are so many reasons but don't even give one, yet you want me to take you seriously. I'm afraid that's impossible.

Romione shipper here, i don't dislike Hermione. I haven't met or seen many people in the book!romione fandom who dislike Hermione (except for Movie!Hermione). The question of someone you like ending up with someone you dislike doesn't particularly make sense. In Friends, Chandler ends up with Monica: now I'm not the biggest Monica fan (I don't hate her but I don't like her very much either) but they are my favorite couple because they make sense. It's about compatibility and character traits, not liking or disliking because that's just a set-up for a ghastly invitation for people to pair up hideousness. "Oh yeah, I like Harry and I also like Hagrid, they should be together. I mean it would be very very disgusting but that's my logic, now, you can't fight it. "- that's how you sound. Please read what you write. Your logic is just...abysmal. That's all I can say without breaking my resolve and berating you with colorful profanities.

This is without the doubt, the easiest one to rebut. It's a delight to see such terrible arguments at my disposal. Come on, dear Harmione shippers, write something that makes me question my choices, not things that make me scoff in disbelief.

In this case, you're essentially providing us with theories. Unproved theories and speculation of what you believe because you'd say anything you like. Where's the proof of your theory, though? Where is that crazy radical Romione shipper who does this? Kindly show me these people. Oh yes, you wanna say we objectify Hermione and disrespect her and view her as a prize. This aches me, that you believe this. No one has ever insinuated this, ever, in the history of anything. What is this winner-loser theory? How do you round off Harry Potter to "an alpha-male ends up with lead-lady" trope and still say you're a fan of the series? Harry Potter doesn't fit in with that format. Ron, Hermione and Harry are co-heroes. Similar to how there's no main character in Friends or the Heroes of Olympus series or the Avengers. We're not living in the 80s anymore. Hermione will be a hero, invariably whether she ends up with Harry, Ron or no one. She ends up with Ron and that's it. Talking about her like this doesn't make you sound any better either. Now you're calling me a misogynist because I don't support the ship of two people who describe themselves as siblings. That's very mature of you. Well here's the thing- I'm not a misogynist. It's as simple as that. I believe that women are capable of anything and everything. I believe Hermione is an amazing person and she is a hero and a different person. I believe the series would be impossible without her. I believe she is no one's prize. There's no requirement of a prize. I just think, similar to canon and the truth and her romantic interest, she will have a great relationship with Ron. There's nothing complex or deep about it, really. No personal weird-thing, no psychological complex, no internalized misogyny. There's nothing deeper than what I said. I am not sexist. I am a feminist. I am all for women empowerment. I love women with the fabric of my being. I love Hermione. I think she's amazing. You only become sexist when you ship people with unstable power dynamics, a bully-victim relation or something of the sort. Neither Romione, nor Harmione are sexist. Heck if you paired Neville with Hermione you wouldn't be sexist. And I hate talking about this so much, I can't even tell you. This talk does make it sound like I treat Hermione like an object and I assure you I respect her and I normally won't talk like this unless someone just outright calls me sexist for something that's not sexist. And this is that situation.

in the case of Romione, no one is too good for anyone. Both are amazing people who're heroes and have done amazing work. That's all I have to say. There's no league, they are romantically interested in each other. I have no intention on sounding lame, but, in love there is no league. As long as you're not putting in any effort and are extremely lazy and leech off of your partner, there is no such concept and no, Hermione is not "too good" for him. Unless of course you're talking about movie Hermione, who is too good for anyone.

5) (halftime!)

oh yes they try to pull this off and wonder why we hate them. Classic. This person likes to sound british, so let's switch up our language, yeah? At least then I won't be out of my element. Let me correct ya, Ron at his best is an amazing, loyal, friendly, brave, strategic hero. There you have it. Ron and 'git' can't be used in the same sentence. Now if you talk about Ron's achievements, I re-iterate you to point two. If it's too much work, here:

1) fights a troll when he's 11

2) is willing to sacrifice himself when he's 11

3) stands up for his friends

4) makes sure Harry feels like he belongs in the family

5) worries about Harry and rescues him from literal jail

6) stands up against Draco rather than by-standing and enabling his behavior

7) tries his level best to make sure Norbert the dragon is in safe hands and carries it out, albeit not in perfection

8) is with Harry every step of the way in his confronting the basilisk

9) sends Harry and Hermione long letters and calls them often to check up on them

10) stands up on a bitten leg to defend his best friend

11) always apologizes for any of his mistakes and is forgiving when others wrong him

12) works his way to join the Quidditch team unlike Draco who most certainly bought his way in

13) destroys at least 2 horcruxes

14) finds out how to defeat a horcrux

15) has an excellent enough memory and observation to notice Harry speaking parseltongue and also using it to his benefit which proves he's resourceful

hey, see, I like Ron and I took the time to copy-paste this instead of asking you to scroll up. And I'm a lot of bad things but I am not lazy. I stick to my deadlines like Hermione. I start my homework in library class and continue it during phys ed the day its given. And I am not exaggerating. Bloody hell, I wish I was. I'm the ceo of deadlines, mate, don't tempt me! So you can see that Ron is much more than just a "nice bloke". And being a "nice bloke" isn't a bad thing either. He's all the things I said: intuitive, strategic, helpful, loyal and on top of that he's also a nice person. Yes, I do see a bit of myself in Ron. I do. I see the insecure side. I waste my time hating myself and criticizing myself and undermining myself, telling me I'm no good. But Ron overcomes that. He inspires me to appreciate myself. Is that a bad thing? Are you going to shame me for having a low self-esteem? Do you want to worsen my low self-esteem and make me feel more like shit?

Now the person who replied to your comment saying, "he isn't a nice bloke most of time.", he is. He is not being nice twice in a span of 7 years. How often do you act rudely or with jealousy? Wasn't Harry yelling at everyone in caps lock in OOTP. Now I don't condemn him for that because he's a fucking hormonal teenager like me and that would make me a hypocrite, but by your logic why don't you condemn him? Or why not condemn Hermione for saying "I only date good Quidditch players" and shoving canaries at Ron's face because someone else kissed him, while she kept using Krum and Cormac to make him jealous. She wasn't being a nice girl, then, was she? Now, once again, i don't dislike her or hold that against her because guess what, mate, I'm a hormonal teenage girl who gets jealous most of the time and would probably react in a similar fashion in the spur of the moment (Not defending her actions here, just putting myself in her shoes.) In short, Ron is a nice bloke MOST OF THE TIME.

It would be misogynistic to think that. The thing is, NO ONE DOES my dear friend! My dear daft friend. I have never heard anyone say that! why are you so hell-bent on portraying us as misogynists when no one ever says that? Stop assuming. Just stop. You are crossing a limit here, aren't you? Yes you are. You cannot say these sort of things. We never said that or believed that, no one ever said this to be a reason to ship Romione. God what is wrong with you? Literally, stop fucking ASSUMING god damn it! Do you want me to assume things about Harmione shippers? Do you want me to go there? Because I will go there! I will go there the moment you tell me to. Just challenge me.

Ron is not a perfect best boi , the reason why so many of us like him is that he's imperfect and tries to become better through the course of time. You are once again assuming and I am once again asking you to stop.

Ron might be an ordinary wizard. He might be poor, sure, but he's a pure-blood and won't face much if he chose not to fight. But he did. He fought. Now I identify with Ron's attitude a fair bit, but I am also likely to spend my day in a library without noticing. People aren't one dimensional. Stop trying to act like you're a psychologist, i know you're not. I don't even think Hermione's overbearing at all! You just insulted someone you're a big fan of. Jesus.

Both Hermione and Ron are strategic, jealous, passionate, feisty, argumentative, intellectual...

that's like 6 similarities. They aren't polar opposites in the slightest. Their differences are just: workaholic, not workaholic. Nerd, not a nerd. Like that's fucking it, man!

being relaxed doesn't make you less independent or driven. A relaxed and levelheaded Hermione will think through things, not be impulsive, not panic etc. She doesn't need Ron. I don't understand your obsession with acting like we ever insinuated that. Then she doesn't need Harry either lol. Stop shipping her with Harry, then or like shut the fuck up. Being a bit relaxed won't stop her or anyone from hitting great strides. Just don't get relaxed to the point you're lazy and casual about everything, that's it.

What do you mean? Ron is balanced. He does finish his work on time. And even if he does procrastinate, she could also help him not and be more driven. Of course, this is an open invitation for you to call me a sexist bitch because I said that she could help him and now you'll think her goal is to help him become better yada yada yada. Fuck off. Defeating the horcrux taught him enough. He respected her. He remembered about the elves when she didn't. He begged to be tortured instead of her. He wouldn't need it because school work and jobs are different and the same person might perceive those differently. Calmness and relaxation doesn't hinder your potential. Not caring and laziness does. You can't function if you work and are stressed 24/7 with zero breaks. Period.

10)

No i do not want (nor does anyone want) Hermione to become Ron. Being slightly calmer doesn't change up your personality. I'm sure many people dislike those sort of fanfics without a doubt. I hate OOC and I don't want Hermione to lose her intellect with Ron because that makes no sense. Ron himself is intellectual and loves arguing with her. They'd boost each other, more like it.

-------

okay thats it i am exhausted as fuck. thanks for reading, i appreciate it. notes and reblogs are appreciated, this takes work.

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tenspontaneite · 3 years

Text

Pigment

Callum discovers the wonders of elven pigments.

(The first of two pieces written for @falling-for-you-a-rayllum-zine, which is now having leftover sales!) ('Future' chapter; takes place post-s3, naturally not canon to TTM. Oneshot. 4k. Ao3 link)

---

The first time Callum was introduced to the concept of elvish pigment was, ostensibly, by Rayla’s skin. He’d noted the marks under her eyes in the same hurried, panicked glance that picked out the horns, the ears, the alarming points of the weapons in her hands…

He wondered about them, of course, but in the first frantic two weeks of their acquaintance, there really wasn’t a lot of time to ask about it. Not until the Storm Spire, when he sat mulling over the flight-runes on Ibis’ wings, and how they might have come to be there.

“…So, I’ve been wondering,” he said to Rayla, apropos of nothing, while she was tending to her equipment. She looked up as he began to speak, the armour momentarily forgotten. “Those…markings you have, the ones on your face—and the ones a lot of other elves seem to have—what are they?”

She blinked, and for a moment, her fingers rose to her face, as though only just remembering the marks were there. “They’re pigment?” She offered, squinting at him a little. “…Is that a trick question, or…?”

“No, really, I have no idea what they are.” He assured her. “I was never sure if they were tattoos, or…weird elf birthmarks, or something. But—pigment? Does that mean it’s like…ink? How do you get them on?” Tattoos, as he understood them, involved needles. He hoped elven pigment didn’t involve needles.

For a moment, Rayla stared at him, looking decidedly nonplussed. “You…paint them on?” She offered, still thrown. “With a brush? And then they stay there for a while. Half a year, maybe. Depends on how good your pigment is.”

“Huh.” Callum mused. For a moment, he was tempted to press further, to ask about the intricacies of various pigments and the application thereof…but he’d been asking for a reason, after all, and his attention remained there.

If they were painted on...then that boded well. That meant that it was something that he could do, if only for the presence of the pigment and a brush.

It wasn’t much later that, after a guilty rummage through Ibis’ things, Callum stood at the pinnacle of the Storm Spire and painted flight-runes onto his skin. That was his first true introduction to the pigments of elves. As an artist, he couldn’t help but marvel at it. The pigment was white, yet it entirely obscured the darker colour of his skin with only a single, easy stroke. Only one layer, and it was solidly opaque. It glowed a little—then settled utterly dry, clean, and steadfast upon his arms.

For a moment, he spared a thought to wish that his paints could be like that. He’d dabbled in every form of art medium he could get his hands on over the years, and he’d never worked with any pigment like this one. It would be gorgeous to paint with.

But then he was too distracted trying to fly to think about art any longer, and that was the last mind he paid to pigment for a while.

After the battle of the Storm Spire, he prevailed upon the use of a finer, neater brush, and filled in the edges of his flight-runes until the shape of each was perfect and immaculate. Ibis watched him with a critical eye, and nodded.

“The spell will come easier if the runes are tidy.” He said, approvingly. “You’ll need to re-apply the pigment every three months. Any longer than that and it will begin to fade—which isn’t so great an issue when the marks are merely aesthetic, but with runes…”

“I can see how you wouldn’t want these fading, no.” Callum said ruefully, and accepted the little bottle of white pigment with a murmur of gratitude. He tucked it into his things for the next time he and Rayla went travelling, and she smiled at him.

“Packing your pigment for the journey, Callum?” She remarked, a little teasing. “Think we’ll be gone that long, do you?”

He laughed, and shrugged, glancing down at one of his arms. “I guess it’s just in case, really. I shouldn’t need to touch them up again for months, but…you never know. Wouldn’t want to end up flightless for some reason.”

“I suppose you are a tad obsessed with flying, now.” She agreed, as if she wasn’t always finding excuses for him to sweep her up into the sky for another flight. She reached out, absentminded, and trailed a fingertip around the curve of one rune with the trace of a smile on her lips. “Still, if it came down to it, you could always borrow mine.”

He glanced up at her, startled. “Your pigment?” He checked, eyes settling on the marks beneath her eyes. “I didn’t know you had any with you.”

“I don’t. Need to pick some up from Ethari, when we visit.” She said, succinctly, and he supposed that was another reason for their stopping at Silvergrove on the way to Katolis. How long had it been, since she last refreshed her pigment? Did she need to do it again soon, or was she just planning for the future?

He stared at her for a moment, contemplating her, feeling his heart flutter with a familiar warmth. If her markings had faded at all since he met her, it wasn’t immediately obvious to him. They looked as clear and lovely as ever; a natural part of her face. It was strange to think of what she might look like without them.

Rayla eyed him, when he’d stared a little too long and smiled a little too softly, and huffed at him. Her cheeks pinked a little, the colour darkening her markings. “What are you looking at?” She muttered to him, a touch self-conscious. Rather than look away, he smiled at her all the wider, and captured the hand she had on his arm to plant a kiss on its fingers.

“You.” He said, very contentedly, and watched with pleasure as her face coloured and her fingers twitched beneath his touch.

“Dumb prince.” She sighed, a smile spreading unbidden and affectionate across her lips. It was beautiful, so of course he kissed that too. He felt the widening of that smile against his mouth, and lingered there for as long as she’d let him before she prodded him away to finish packing.

She gave his arms a strange look, though, when he next bared them. Appraising, almost, with a narrow-eyed sort of consideration. “…What?” He asked, when she’d been staring long enough to warrant the question.

“Your runes are…neat.” She said, tone as considering as her eyes. “Tidy.” She shook her head then. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, with all the art you do. Of course you’d be good at painting skin-pigment.” He eyed her, because there was clearly more to this observation than just surprise that he’d managed some tidy brushwork, but all she said when he asked was “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t believe her, obviously. Not with the way she kept shooting half-considering looks at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. But he didn’t press her, and she didn’t mention whatever was on her mind. In time, he forgot about it.

Until they were back in the Silvergrove.

Rayla asked Ethari, and within the minute he was pressing a small dark bottle and a fine brush into her hands. “I did wonder if you needed any.” He said, as she turned the glass over and the indigo liquid swirled around within. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” She agreed, pocketing the vial and the brush both. “It’ll start fading soon. So…thanks.”

He nodded at her, all warmth and familial affection. “Not a problem. Did you want me to help with that while you’re here?”

She hesitated, then, and for a moment…for a moment, her eyes slid to Callum, who’d been watching them idly over the top of his sketchbook. “…I’m good.” She settled on, eventually, and if there was anything particularly knowing about Ethari’s smile then, Callum didn’t notice it.

He kept drawing, content in that she was content, and happy to be in her home under happier circumstances than the first.

But then, later: “I wanted to ask you something.” Rayla said, abruptly, when it was just the two of them in what was ostensibly her childhood room. It had been adapted over the years for a growing teenager, but still maintained hints of the past lingering within its walls. He spotted a child’s doodle of a shadowpaw etched into the grain of the dresser, and suppressed a smile.

He turned to her, eyes crinkling a little at the thought of a tiny rambunctious Rayla who scrawled over the walls and furniture. “Yeah?” He responded, a little distracted, as he wondered if there were perhaps any baby or childhood portraits in residence somewhere. He should ask Ethari. If there were any to be found, surely he’d know.

That distraction fled the instant she spoke. “Will you paint my pigment for me?” She asked, directly, and his eyes shot to her at once. At his expression, she added, “You don’t have to. But it needs doing soon, or it’ll start fading faster.” She paused, looking a little more tentative as she said, “If you don’t want to, Ethari can—”

“No,” he blurted, clumsy, then scrambled to say “I mean, yes, I mean—I mean I’d like that. To help. To, er. Paint your pigment on.” He felt his face heat, in part from how he’d stumbled over the words, and in part because…well. He might not know a lot about elven pigment and elven markings, but he was fairly sure that they were…personal. That painting someone’s markings for them was personal.

His reply settled her, and she huffed, lips twitching with familiar fondness. “…Good.” She said, in the end, and surprised him by leaving the room without further word. He blinked after her, uncertain whether he was supposed to follow, but then she returned a bare few moments later with a towel and a wet cloth that she was already wiping her face with.

“Er,” he offered, perplexed, as she dried her face off and set the towel and cloth both down. He didn’t understand until she plucked the bottle of pigment from her dresser and pressed it into his fingers. “Now?” His voice was something of a squeak, and she rolled her eyes.

“When else?” She asked, procuring a brush and giving him that too. “We’re setting off tomorrow. Now’s best.” She paused. “…That okay?”

Her voice had gone tentative again, and his chin jerked up, fingers tightening around brush and bottle as if worried she’d take them away. “No, yeah, it’s okay,” he assured her, and then laughed, a little nervously. “I just…wasn’t expecting it.” He cleared his throat, and took a closer look at the brush. It was like the one he’d filled his own runes in with, fine and delicate and short enough that it didn’t seem liable to flick off in weird directions. “…So I just…paint this onto your face?” He asked, after a moment, feeling his cheeks heat for reasons he couldn’t quite put to words. It felt special, in a way that was hard to describe.

“That is how it works.” Rayla answered, dryly, and then tugged him by the rune-adorned arm until they were both sitting on the floor, towel and cloth at close remove. He supposed those were there in case of spillages, though considering how quickly elvish pigment took hold, he wasn’t sure how much good a towel would do. He wondered if there was some sort of solvent, magical or otherwise, that was up to the task of dissolving pigment like this.

“What happens if I make a mistake when I’m putting your pigment on?” He wondered aloud, only half directing it at her. “Do you just have to walk around with it on your face for months?”

She snorted, and shook her head. “Nah. There’s pigment-remover for that.”

A little tension eased from his shoulders. “Oh, good,” he sighed, relieved. “That’s much less pressure, then.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Just paint my face, Callum.”

He chuckled at her, a little nervously, and uncapped the bottle. The liquid inside was so much darker than the pigment he used, and bizarrely true in its colour. Usually, inks tended to look much darker than their actual colour when they were in the bottle. It was only when you painted them onto a page that you could see how light and bright they were. This, though…it was just solid, liquid indigo, as if someone had distilled the concept of the colour of Rayla’s markings and spilled it into a bottle. “This would be amazing to paint with.” He murmured, somewhat distractedly, watching the pigment shimmer in the low light.

Rayla didn’t answer that, which was unusual enough that his eyes darted to hers, and found her looking strangely thoughtful. She shook her head, though, as if to dispel some thought, and started giving the pigment bottle and the brush some very meaningful looks. He laughed, softly, and obeyed the unspoken command; he dipped the brush in, drained off the excess, and then lifted it. It was dyed the same solid, true indigo—a colour that he was about to put onto her skin.

It hit him then, or at least started to; he looked between the brush and her face and felt his breath catch at—at something. It felt a little like panic, a little like wonder, a little like the breathless infatuation she always managed to inspire in him. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do with it, and just…stared at her, heart beating wildly at—at the trust, and the honour, that he couldn’t help but feel she’d given him.

She was looking impatient by the time he finally moved, and likely would have spoken if not for how he shuffled closer, until their knees were touching. Her mouth closed, watching him, eyes settling on his own as he reached towards her. His fingers brushed the edge of her jaw, feather-light, as tentative as he always was when he remembered that someone as amazing as her had deigned to be with someone like him. His breath caught in his throat as he lifted his hand, thumb tracing tenderly along a cheek that warmed beneath his touch.

He cupped her face in his hand, then, unable to resist the impulse, and she leaned into it without even thinking. Her eyes fell half-lidded for a moment, the smallest smile twitching at the edges of her lips, and he wanted to kiss her. That wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing, but—but he wanted to, and she was smiling at him, and her eyes were soft and warm in the quiet and low light of the room—

So, he kissed her, and she huffed an amused breath against his lips, lifting a hand to trail affectionate fingers along the side of his neck. “This doesn’t feel like face-painting to me.” She murmured to him, fond and teasing at once, and he wouldn’t have been surprised for a moment if his heart stopped beating for the strength of how much he loved her. “Weren’t you supposed to be doing something?”

He laughed, a little breathless, and the warmth of it spilled between them. “Yeah.” He agreed, helplessly, drawing back with her fingers still warm on his neck and his hand still cupped to her cheek, and paused for a moment to treasure the sight of her looking at him like that. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was that she loved him. He didn’t think he’d ever believe it. “I’ll just…get on that.”

She withdrew her hand, and watched him. Waiting.

His fingers shifted on Rayla’s face, moving to press his thumb gently to the side of the marking under her left eye. Pulling at the skin, ever-so-slightly, to allow for painting it more evenly. Another urge struck him, but this time he suppressed it. He could kiss her cheek-markings later. For now, he was supposed to be painting them. And so…

With an almost reverent care, he lifted the tip of the brush to her face, hovering just above her skin with a heady mixture of breathless wonder and breathless trepidation. He exhaled, softly, and felt her eyes upon him. Watching, warm and fond and expectant.

Finally, with the utmost care, he touched the brush to her skin.

She flinched a little at the touch so close beneath her eye, but he’d expected that. He held the brush steady and traced a slow, perfect line down her cheek, along the edge of the extant marking, like a dark border to the fading colour. And it was fading; he could see that now. It wasn’t noticeable on its own, but with the contrast of the fresh pigment beside it, it was fully obvious that the old colour had begun waning.

With the brush to her skin, Callum’s hushed awe fell in step with the breadth of his skill and practice. He’d never put brush to someone else’s skin before, but that did nothing to diminish his skill. He knew brushwork, and he knew the delicacy needed for fine detail, and…and, in the end, this was easy. Just tracing around an existing marking, and filling it in. There could be nothing easier.

He drew the pigment across her skin in smooth, effortless lines. He traced the borders of her marking and then filled it in, up until when the brush began to run empty, and he had to go for the bottle again. The colour settled fast, immediate, and perfect upon her face, with that gorgeous fidelity he’d never seen in any other pigment or paint or ink in all his life. It was a pleasure to use it, and all the more that he was using it for this.

Callum fell half into an artist’s trance for the remaining minutes it took to finish. He filled the left marking in, stark and perfect, then shifted his fingers tenderly to her other cheek, and repeated the process. When he was done, there was nothing but perfect lines and perfect colour upon a face that he loved.

He smiled, small and satisfied, and set the brush aside. “Done.” He murmured, and leaned forward to press his forehead to hers, cradling her face in both hands. It felt strange, to risk touching her skin when he’d only just painted it. But that was the wonder of elvish pigment; it dried the moment it was applied, and permitted no possibility of smearing whatsoever. He stroked his thumbs beneath her eyes and felt more happy, more tender, more loving than he’d ever known. “Perfect.” He murmured, reverential, the words meant for more than the pigment.

Her eyes blinked across from his own, and he loved them. Loved her. She brought her arms up and drew him closer, one hand splayed on the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ll have you do me some new markings, someday.” She murmured to him, in the end, a small and secret smile at the edges of her lips. He stared at her, spellbound, for the three beats of his heart that lingered between her smile and her movement. She leaned in and closed the meagre distance between them, the kiss soft and sweet and all the more perfect for how dearly he adored her.

He imagined, for a second, drawing that ink-brush again along her skin. Imagined it between her fingers, along her arms, casting indigo whorls about her shoulders. He thought of new pigment, new markings, and the sheer delight of being the one who got to put them there. His heart fluttered. “I’d like that.” He said, against her lips, and she kissed him again.

“Good.” When she drew back, the markings were still stark and beautiful beneath her eyes, where he’d painted them. The sight of them left him a little breathless, even now, unable to shake the sense that he’d been afforded an enormous privilege, a gift of worth beyond measure.

Someday, he hoped, she’d afford him that gift again.

Callum saw the fruits of Rayla’s thoughtful consideration and furtive glances a while later, when July came around and he was startled from thinking about her birthday by the arrival of his own. She cornered him with palpable satisfaction, and gave him a parcel that she very clearly expected him to be delighted with.

She wasn’t wrong.

He unveiled an array of small bottles; thirty-six hues of true and perfect elvish pigment, distilled for the purpose of painting. He beheld them all with a nearly breathless joy, finding the little parcel of pigment-brushes, the bottle of solvent, the masking-fluid….

“You like it?” Rayla asked, with a broad and decidedly smug smile on her face. She clearly already knew the answer.

“I love it.” He pronounced, and set at once to trying them out.

The very first thing he painted was her. She watched him, and huffed as she saw the familiar lines of her own face taking form on the page, pleased and exasperated all at once. She never did seem to understand why he drew her so often, but that was okay. And, with these pigments…

The colours were spectacular, brighter and more intensely pigmented than anything he’d ever seen. He found himself utterly swept away in the delight of using them, and hours later, emerged from his artist’s trance to the completed work: Rayla in the early evening of the Silvergrove, her hair and eyes gleaming softly with the gentle illumination of the lights and moon-moths around her. It was one of the finest works he’d ever produced, and at the sight of it, he concluded the process of falling helplessly in love with Elvish pigment.

Rayla, for all her embarrassment at being painted, seemed to approve of it too. “You picked that up quickly.” She noted, handling the edges of the thick paper with the delicate care it deserved.

“These pigments are my new favourite thing.” He declared, arranging the bottles a little more tidily beside him. His eyes rested, a little consideringly, over another wide sheet of paper. He stared at it for a long while, growing quiet and solemn, and eventually reached out to take it.

He had his birthday traditions to observe, after all.

The second thing he painted with the elven pigments was his family portrait, atrophied and truncated by tragedy. There was no Sarai there, and hadn’t been for years. No Harrow, and that was a new pain. He felt the ghosts of their absence in the lines he didn’t draw, in the colours that never fell upon the page, in the voids of grief that they left in his life.

But there were new faces now, too.

With quiet, exquisite care, he drew himself. He drew Ezran, older now, wearing a mantle that had come for him too soon. He drew Bait in his brother’s arms. He drew Aunt Amaya. And, tenderly: he drew Azymondias and Rayla. The outlines took form, and as the hours passed, elvish pigment filled them in.

In the end, he had his family portrait again. Changed, and echoing with its empty spaces, but…

Quiet, from her place beside him, Rayla slipped her hand into his own.

“Come on,” She said, with the small but tender smile that he loved. “Zym has a present for you too. He’ll be disappointed if he can’t give it to you today.”

Callum exhaled, and let her fingers tighten around his, pulling him up to his feet beside her. His own smile slipped onto his lips. “Then we’d better go find him.” He said, casting a last glance at the portrait on the table. He didn’t resist it when she tugged on his fingers, pulling him away.

With a strange, quiet serenity, he followed her out into the light.

---

end.

This is word-for-word what was published in the Rayllum zine 'Falling For You'; I have made no changes. It’s the shorter and less impressive of my two pieces, but I hope you liked it anyway.

I’ll potentially be making some minor edits to the second piece before posting, given I intend to continue it - in fact, I’ve already got like three extra chapters of it written, though small ones. I’m considerably more excited about that one, so stay tuned!

#rayllum #rayllumzine #tdp fic #tdp callum #tdp rayla #seriously though the soulmate au piece is good times #looking forward to everyone being able to read it #had to do word count negotiations to get a piece that long into the zine lol #the mods kindly granted me a couple extra ks #and then I decided to reduce my word limit for this first piece by 1k so I could shift that to the more exciting piece too #it deserved every word I could give it #this one is nice don't get me wrong #i'm just not made for short decisive pieces #and the soulmate AU's ending is VERY MUCH open-ended #and inviting follow-up #which I then wrote and shared with my closest cohorts #awaiting the day it could be published #looking forward to seeing the comments on my baby

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

not without my muse

pairing: bucky barnes/sam wilson/steve rogers

fandom: mcu

rating: general

word count: 9259

warning: swearing, referenced (canon) character death

summary: Sam celebrates his birthday while on the run. He has a lot of feelings about being away from home, and a lot of feelings about two of his companions. (slightly canon divergent post-cacw pining)

(my best boy sam wilson’s birthday AND on bisexual visibility day 🥳 he is so important to me of course i needed to write something. this is for the lovely Samtember event by @samwilsonfest, and this is also my first time writing the all caps ot3 !! i want to thank my beta-reader for helping me out sm with this, and the horse gc on twitter for cheering me on as always 💖 hope you enjoy??)

read on ao3

This morning is just as the many, many other mornings Sam’s had since he became a fugitive from the government; waking up from relatively peaceful slumber on a stiff mattress and remembering the reality of the ship that is their only refuge. Better than stingy motels, though.

God. Yet another day.

It’s only been three months since Steve and him picked Bucky up; five months since Natasha joined them. Four of them now, harder to stay under the radar, but they’re making it work.

Naturally the blond is keeping an eye on his friend every waking moment, and Sam’s decided to do the same when Steve finally lets himself sleep.

The ex-Winter Soldier is quiet. He seemed happy to see them. Tired. Sam would be surprised otherwise.

And now they’ve landed for three days; that’s the maximum, of course, and they’ll have to get in the air as early as possible, stretching it an extra day isn’t the wisest, but resources are limited and they need to eat, obviously.

He blinks himself awake in the morning sunlight streaming in; the faintest of bird songs outside. Seems to be the first one awake.

Just another day on the run. Except-

Except it’s Sam’s birthday today.

It takes a minute for it to hit him, actually, funny; he’d almost forgotten it was coming up. That’s strange to think about. But as fugitives, that’s still just as much another day, because, well, what is he supposed to do?

What Sam sits up, stares into the empty space in front of him and thinks of, what he wants and needs so desperately is to go home. To his little sister, his nephews.

They have burner phones and it helps. But that doesn’t really feel like enough right now, it couldn’t. He hopes he’ll have the chance to have a phone call today, then, with any of them. Sarah’s voice always grounds him when he needs it, or hearing Cass’ laugh.

Even with burner phones they’re keeping contact short and limited, you can’t ever be careful enough. Maybe Nat’s too paranoid, or maybe she’s just too experienced with this thing. The latter, he’d say. They have to remain untraceable, unfindable.

Somehow, by his friend’s pained face a month ago, when she’d been humming American Pie to herself and he’d sat down, not really saying anything but rather just listened, a soothing sort of thing in the middle of this, he’s got a feeling she understands what he’s feeling right now. Missing someone so badly you can’t get yourself to do anything else.

Speaking of Natasha, soon enough she enters his line of vision and takes the rear seat, reminding him that he needs to get up already. Get ready. Get going. Yet another day.

“‘Morning,” he tells her while stretching, his back aching, which is to be expected nowadays, sadly. Last night was probably the most rest they’ve had in days.

She nods in acknowledgement; not a morning person, he’s aware.

For a split second Sam wonders if she knows what day it is, but perhaps it doesn’t really matter. He can’t remember if he’s told her. Or if she found out on her own with those russian superspy skills of hers.

Ah, well. It’s not like he expects a surprise party. Or gifts or cake or… whatever. He just wishes he’d had more sleep, two weeks of it would be sufficient. One can only dream.

As his friend wakes the Quinjet to life and he himself gets to work at the map, previous locations and small jobs pinned as they go, though, he feels a hand and arm briefly graze his waist as the person passes by behind him.

He reveals himself soon enough; Steve’s voice is hoarser than usual when he tells him, “Happy birthday, Sammy.”

The blond caught a cold recently, which he didn’t even know was possible with the super serum, but he passed by it quickly. Reminded Bucky of the old days, whatever that may have meant.

His friend remembered. And now said friend is standing next to him with a shy smile and looking at him in a way that puzzles Sam. Sort of like he wants to say more. Or like the greeting wasn’t enough, like he was ashamed. Or like he’s keeping something from him. That’s a lot he’s getting from just one facial expression, he realises, but spending every waking moment with someone else makes you familiar, more than they already were, that is.

The smile does make him feel instantly better about getting up at all this morning.

It reminds Sam of Sarah’s voice. That doesn’t make much sense, does it?

But it’s grounding. He likes Steve’s smile a lot; the bigger one even better, when it turns into a grin without all the self-righteousness he puts on when they get down to business, and he just looks wide-eyed and sunny.

And he smiles back easily, feeling his smile form like the warmth spreading in his throat.

God, his eyes are still burning. His friend’s hand hasn’t left his waist, he suddenly realises. Does Steve realise? Should he point it out? He’s probably as tired as himself, he reasons.

“You remembered?” The statement comes out as more of a question, and the man next to him soon turns the smile into a half-frown.

“Of course,” the blond replies, “It’s your birthday.”

His voice is ever so stern. Sam would laugh at his serious demeanor, if he wasn’t still blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“I didn’t expect you to, man. Given our, uh… current situation.”

His friend’s hand still hasn’t left his waist. Huh. He isn’t complaining, though, the touch is… soft. Welcome. It just makes his brain wander, which is a little hard work at 6am.

“You should,” Steve says. He’s smiling again, and turns then, to look at the map lighting up in front of them, “It’s important.”

See, another thing Sam likes about him: the sincerity is overwhelmingly evident, clear when it’s coming from him. He nods, and bites his lip. Both of them seem to contemplate the visual in front of them for a bit. When Bucky’s footsteps sound behind them and he eventually appears on the other side of Steve, the blond still doesn’t remove his hand.

He doesn’t really want him to move it, to be completely honest. Sam likes it there. Perhaps he could touch it with his own. But that’d be weird, right?

A gruff mumble reaches him with its own lieu of a greeting, “Happy birthday.”

Sam finds himself blinking in surprise; slowly, twice.

Ah, well. Steve must’ve told him.

They’re not doing any odd jobs today; missions are there when they need to keep busy, and Nat’s an expert on undercover work. Rather the goal for the day is finding a new hideout for a night or two and stocking up on supplies. Still undercover work, kind of.

This is why they’re heading into the main street in sunglasses, caps and hoodies, keeping their heads low, weapons down and Bucky’s instinct to cover his arm sticks with him, clearly.

“Two hours,” Natasha told them, “We can’t afford to risk anymore. Meet back at the ship.”

They all know the plan, because it’s the same plan, time after time, day after day, yet they repeat it like a mantra. Soon enough, they’re split into teams, the brunette and blonde heading for the pharmacy while he and Steve look over the grocery store aisles.

Sam’s planning to call Sarah; hopefully catch her when she’s home from work, before going to bed, otherwise he wouldn’t know when he’d be able to get a hold of her again. Might be weeks. Going by the sugary cereals reminds him a bit too much of his nephews, in fact, he has to look straight ahead and keep going. He feels Steve’s eyes on his neck.

Speaking of Steve, once they’re in the queue, Sam feels a familiar hand going for his pocket and it certainly isn’t his own.

The blond doesn’t speak a word. He wants to ask, but his friend puts all his focus on paying with his only free hand, and a strange sense of calm comes over Sam, for some reason he can’t begin to explain. This birthday is stranger than he expected it to be.

And the moment disappears again before he knows it; like in the morning, on the ship.

Steve had to let go eventually. Sam finds himself wishing he didn’t.

Even stranger, the blond has an errand to run, he says. Alone.

“You sure?” he hesitates with the question, because surely if Steve wanted him to know he would say, but keeping secrets is sort of out of character for his friend, “We’re meeting Bucky and Nat halfway. We’ll watch your back.”

Steve shakes his head firmly, “I’ll catch up to you, won’t be long.”

He still isn’t saying exactly where he’s going. It worries Sam, just a little bit. Not exactly a fan of letting his best friend out of sight.

But when the blond’s set on a decision, there’s no way anyone can tell him otherwise. “Okay,” Sam decides, “Call me if you need me.”

“Always.”

In response to his explanation of Steve’s absence, he gets a simple tilt of Natasha’s head and Bucky’s face twitching so quickly he’d miss it if they weren’t huddled so close together. The woman doesn’t exactly look happy about it. The taller man, meanwhile, he has the face that Sam knows is his worrying face; he just recognizes it so instantly it scares him a little.

At least his other friends are behaving normally; well, not Bucky, because he’s been considering too many reasons why the ex-Winter Soldier would possibly know about his birthday, and all of them are logical. But it still makes him feel some sort of way. Like when Steve smiles at him.

It takes Sam a moment to register Natasha speaking because he’s stuck inside his head about the two other men, but, “Happy birthday, by the way,” she tells him, a crooked smile and hands in her pockets.

“Thanks, Romanova. Still hate birthdays?”

“Absolutely,” she huffs, “Mostly my own, however. Must be a disappointing one today, though, huh?”

Sam just has to move his eyes to Bucky for a second, who abandoned the bench for the flea market on the other side of the road. He has no idea why.

He wonders if his friend notices. He shrugs in response, “Could be better. I need to talk to my sister.”

Her nod is short, and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s these types of situations where he knows better than to ask.

And while the brunette’s crossing the street back to them again, the blond also reappears behind them, which is clear by him patting Sam’s shoulder. He’s never been this touchy before. Has he?

What’s the most surprising isn’t that though, rather, it’s when Natasha eagerly continues on, right in the heels of Bucky, and Steve matches his own pace behind them. Then, he hands Sam a white box.

He doesn’t understand. His best friend looks at him expectantly, until it seemingly dawns upon that Sam needs an explanation.

“It’s for you,” he says, smile evident in his voice, no matter how hard he tries to whisper.

“For me?” he asks, because the gesture confuses him beyond words, “I- why?”

Well, this is a birthday present, isn’t it? It can’t be, though. Steve really shouldn’t. It’d be too much trouble to do when they’re literally running for their lives, and the guilt is already showing its ugly head inside his mind.

It’s Steve’s turn to look confused, “For your birthday.”

Right. Right, okay.

“You didn’t have to.”

His friend slows down his pace a bit, “I know.”

“But you still…” Sam doesn’t really know where he’s going with that sentence, to be honest. That feeling in his gut wishes Steve’s hand was touching his waist again. He could easily understand. Explain it away, act like it’s not making him feel certain things and think certain thoughts and making him overthink the blond’s eyes staring back at him behind the shades.

“I wanted to, Sam,” Steve tells him, speeding up again, they almost lost sight of their friends for a second there, “You deserve it. Well, you deserve more, but I- we can’t.”

It’s as if his heart does a somersault, runs a marathon and wrings itself inside out, all at the same time.

Oh.

Sam decides to look at him in question, and his friend somehow knows what he’s saying, “Open it.”

So he does. Inside, he finds a birthday cake. Or rather an oreo ice cream cake. One similar to the one he’s gotten for basically all the birthdays he can remember, all the way back to his childhood. It’s a tradition.

When exactly did he tell Steve about that? He must have, sometime, a long time ago, but he can’t recall when.

And because he’s getting a bit too overwhelmed by this gift, and this day that’s barely even started, he just looks at the cake in shock and tries for the life of himself to look casual about it. He also tries extremely hard to read his friend’s face, but it’s nearly impossible.

“My favorite,” is all Sam can come up with. He feels like a bit of an idiot. But also, he feels like someone needs to pinch his side. And he feels a lot like flying, no wings required.

“I know.”

Steve is doing things to him, and he probably doesn’t even realise.

He wouldn’t expect anything else, he’s a good friend, he’s Sam's best friend, yet the blond putting his hand in his pocket again and the box holding that cake is making his head spin.

He has to stop thinking about it too much. Sam just really needs to talk to Sarah.

Getting through the crowds of people, avoiding any possible surveillance cameras and eyeing suspicious suited men until they realise they’re just accountants or lawyers or bankers, it’s quite some work, but they make it back to the secluded woods where the Quinjet’s waiting - thank heavens for cloaking technology, huh?

He eyes his wristwatch, now might be the best time to try reaching his little sister. There’s coverage, too, it seems.

This is why Sam slows down and eventually stops in front of the entrance, the three of them all giving him a variation of confused looks until he holds up the burner phone as explanation. He hopes they’ll understand. They nod, so most likely.

“Don’t be long, Sam,” the woman warns him, but there’s still a hint of smile there. He returns it with a bit of relief.

The tone rings three times before someone answers. Sam is close to giving up until the sound shakes, and his sister’s voice comes through the speaker and washes over him with the greatest relief he’s felt in a long time, “Sammy?”

He can’t help the grin growing on his face. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Sarah’s giggles remind him of home. And God, does he want to see them again so badly.

He doesn’t regret standing by Steve, but being so far from the safety he knows is terrifying, sometimes. And lonely.

“You’re still causing trouble?” she asks, and yeah, she can always get a laugh out of him, no matter the situation, no matter how long they've been apart. It’s part of their connection, he guesses.

Sam also rolls his eyes, which she can’t see, of course, she’d only tease him more, “Trying to stay out of it, more like.”

His little sister sighs, “Happy birthday. I miss you.”

The relief and nostalgic happiness switches into something a bit more melancholic, the nostalgia frighteningly more heartbreaking. They usually avoid talking about, well, Sam’s current situation, whenever they communicate. It took him a long time of secrecy before breaking the news to his nephews, revealing why he couldn’t visit them at the moment.

“I miss you too,” Sam tells her, hoping his sincerity can be heard over the phone, “I wish I could see you.”

“Me too.”

Speaking of his nephews, it’s not long into their phone calls before some muffled voices in the background make themselves known, and Sarah laughs softly again, some movement can be heard, “It’s your uncle on the phone.”

He’s pretty sure she put him on speaker, because next thing he knows AJ is yelling into his ear, “Uncle Sam! Uncle Sam!?”

Sam bites his lip. He hasn’t got much time before they need to leave, and if he returns to the ship with tears in his eyes Steve will probably look at him with his big knowing eyes and say this is all his fault. He can’t have his best friend blaming himself this much, not right now, anyway.

Because, well, yeah, they’re on the run because of the Accords. He’d never sign that for the life of him regardless of Steve, but Sam also trusts the blond with his life honestly. Since they met Steve’s been by his side, unwavering, and he intends to do the same for him.

And he doesn’t know Bucky… he still doesn’t. He’d like to. But if Steve is willing to go this far for his friend, he’s just as willing.

He shakes the thoughts of his two friends out of his head, for now, sniffles and laughs through the tears threatening to escape his eyes, “I’m here, buddy.”

“Uncle Sam, are you crying?” Cass’ voice comes through this time, he really can’t hide anything from them, can he? “You shouldn’t be sad on your birthday. You’re beating up bad guys, right?!”

Sarah’s laugh overlaps with his own, “Not exactly.”

“Oh, all the time,” he retaliates, “Your mother’s lying to you, boys.”

His sister’s fake gasp sets him back to the lemonade stand they set up together when they were kids, Sam was certain he remembered their mom’s recipe right, and Sarah didn’t talk to him the whole day when he doubted her version. Of course neither of them were right, anyway.

He feels like a broken record inside his head, but the only thing he wishes for is to see her face. Kiss her nose because she found it so embarrassing, but she’s grown fond of it, he can just tell.

So Sam does try to narrate the odd jobs they’ve been doing, making it as dramatic as possible and leaving out all the existential fear and doubt and his tired bones repeating the same protocols over and over. The boys love every second of it.

He knows his sister is shaking her head at him when AJ excitedly interrupts his story of his first visit to Wakanda, “I could be a hero too, right? Right!?” “You can be anything you want,” he tells him, the tears welling up again. In the far corner of his eye he spots Nat returning to the walkway of the Quinjet, leaning against the opening expectantly. She can wait for a minute, he decides.

“Mom! Mom! Uncle Sam said I can be just like him!”

“You can, sweetheart, but that’s for when you’re older, okay?” Sarah’s voice is a bit quieter now, and his nephews both come through with some sad sounding noises, “Your uncle’s job can be- uh, dangerous.”

He nods. That’s an understatement. Of course, none of them can see this, he realises, once again looking towards his friend who’s waiting for him, looking up in the sky in search of who knows what. Redwing’s still checking the perimeter, so they should be safe for now. The blonde doesn’t exactly trust the drone, as she’s told him on many, many occasions, but she’ll warm up to him.

“Your mom’s right,” Sam finally answers, and although he’s not sure he fully believes it himself, he’ll make the best attempt he can to ease his little sister’s worries. God knows how much she’s got to deal with back home, “I’ll be careful, though. I gotta come back and check on you guys.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then, “You better.”

Sam smiles. He can hear the tears in her voice, too, “I promise. I intend to keep my promises.”

His sister sighs, she’s not agreeing or disagreeing or… anything, but she sounds a little more calm. A little. He’s trying, but he knows he’s giving himself away, tripping in place and laughing more nervously than anything else.

“I know you don’t have much time, Sam. Just promise me you’re taking care of yourself, okay?” “Always-”

“Did you have any cake, Uncle Sam?” AJ’s voice resurfaces once again, and he laughs at the interruption, “We always get cake for you… we want to.”

The disappointment is clear as day, and very much breaking his heart into pieces that he doesn’t know how to pick up or where to keep. Sam clears his throat instead, and looks toward his blonde friend once again, who gives him a crooked smile and shrugs one shoulder.

They should go soon. Nat’s looking at her watch, but she’s not rushing him, though.

“I know you do, buddy. We can have all the cake we want when I come to visit you, right?” he reassures his nephew, who giggles with his brother in excitement, before his sister’s half-joking disapproval, “I wouldn’t say all the cake, but we’ll see about it.”

He looks away from his friend on the Quinjet, looks at his watch, sees Redwing descending to the ground. Time’s up.

But for some reason, Sam can’t say goodbye before he finds a question popping up in his mind, one that’s been all there all day and confused him to no end. “Sarah?” he asks, she hums in response, “I have to go but I need to ask, does it- uhm… does it mean something if Steve got me a birthday cake?”

A moment of silence again, somehow seeming agonizingly longer than before. “I don’t understand what you’re asking, Sammy, sorry.” He thinks his sister might be frowning in question, but it’s hard to tell. She just sounds as confused as he’s feeling.

“I mean… I don't know. He remembered my favorite cake. And he went on this secret trip to get it?”

Sam laughs at himself, and the thoughts of his friend come back again. The friend he’s known for a long time now, the one who held his hand as they landed in Wakanda, something that he didn’t fully process then because of how the airsickness clogged his ears and made him feel like vomiting, but it’s all he can think back to, now.

He continues, “I just don’t understand why he’d go to so much trouble for me. One wrong move, a wrong person and he could’ve-”, of course, he abruptly pauses, remembering his young nephews still on the line, backtracking, “... you know.”

Sam doesn’t know how long he waits for his little sister’s answer, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting either. She can’t exactly look into Steve’s head, and they’ve never met, anyway. Maybe she’ll tell him to stop worrying and focus on not getting arrested, or worse.

And yet, Sarah replies with, “You’re worth that risk.”

He furrows his brows, “Sorry?”

“You’re worth that risk and more, Sam. To me,” she says, voice confident and filled with the peace of the early mornings he misses so much, “And to him too, I bet.”

Huh. Sam cannot for the life of him think of a response to that.

“You still with me?”

He shakes his head at himself, nods at Natasha, who nods in response and retreats into the ship. “Hm? Yeah, yeah. I am.”

Sarah laughs at him, which is a bit rude, but he doesn’t mind. He’d like to listen to it all day and every day, if he could. In fact, he has to remind himself to make her laugh as much as he can when he sees them again.

He promised to get back to them. Sam Wilson keeps his promises.

“I love you,” his sister says, which is better than saying goodbye. Until next time, more like. See you soon, very, very soon.

It’s only then he feels like he can breathe again, “Love you too.”

See, being on the run in a Quinjet is much, much easier than Steve’s tragically tiny car - not only due to the advantage of having space and proper beds and not having to check in on questionable locations every three days under a new fake name, but also, it has a freezer.

Useful when your best friend decides to get you an ice cream birthday cake.

Sam actually finds it already placed in the freezer, one that’s heavily organized, all thanks to Nat. When he spots the box, he finds himself wondering if their two companions noticed it. If so, they aren’t addressing it.

A silence has settled over the ship now; it’s midday, sky’s clear save for the grey clouds lurking in the distance, and Steve’s taken over the rear so Natasha can take a break. They do it in shifts, because more often than not they have to keep on the move at night, as well.

And while their friend has resided to her bed and headphones, Sam lingers in the kitchen area, interconnected with the main cockpit.

The blond’s back is turned to him. He always taps his foot when he’s concentrating on something, and he’s put on the radio. Marvin Gaye, of course. Sam can’t help smiling to himself.

Steve’s hair has grown ridiculously long now- well, so has his own, not exactly much access to hairdressers at the moment. They could both match Bucky’s hairdo soon, he bets.

Speaking of the long haired man, this is exactly who soon joins him, almost sneaking up on him, his footsteps barely making a sound. Sam was a bit in his own world anyway, he’ll admit.

When he appears on his side, he stands for a moment and moves his gaze in the same direction as his own. Sam wonders if he should make conversation, but the moment’s gone in the blink of an eye when Bucky grabs a beer from the fridge and then comes to learn against the counter like himself.

It’s a rare kind of quiet on the ship.

It feels almost… relaxed. Calm unlike those many strained silences after almost getting recognized in public or nights when Sam finds himself unable to sleep, and somehow, a strange sense of knowing that all his friends are kept awake as well. Steve snores, so the lack of the sound is a giveaway, and Nat is restless, moving around the ship when she thinks the men don’t hear her.

Bucky’s bed is in his line of vision, however, so he knows the longer haired man rarely sleeps these days. At least, when he’s up at night, he’s noticed his friend staring at the ceiling, bedsheet abandoned at his feet and almost looking like he’s holding his breath.

It’s those nights Sam is eternally grateful for the locket his sister gave him; made sure to put her and his nephews on one side, their parents on the other. He can’t explain how, but having them close to his heart when they’re running errands, the anxiety that creeps up on him lessens, a little bit.

And Riley’s army tags. He left their pictures together back at the house, he bitterly remembers, and prays to all the higher powers out there that the agents sent after them haven’t touched that box. That it’s still on the top shelf of his closet, containing the polaroids and every drawing Cass has made him, and his mother’s favorite scarf.

Sam smiles to himself at the memory. She knitted him a million scarves and socks and hats, but that one, it keeps him connected to her. Like, he can put it under his pillow and close his eyes and he can almost see her and her warm eyes and hear her sing him and Sarah to sleep.

Suddenly, his thoughts are interrupted, by the man next to him poking his side gently.

“I got you something,” Bucky tells him, his demeanor neutral, lips showing the slightest hint of a smile that no one would notice. Sam does, though. He does the same when they play chess to pass the time; secretive, trying his hardest to hide his enjoyment of the game.

He blinks at his friend, “Huh?”

The brunette shrugs, “For your birthday. It’s not much, but…”

“I…” Sam doesn’t even know what to say, one minute focused on Steve’s gift and now another gift for him to process, neither of which he expected at all, “Bucky, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

Bucky shrugs again. “Don’t care. I wanted you to have something.”

Okay. His friend’s face doesn’t change a bit, but the moment changes, and it’s much like the ship and everything else around them vanishes into thin air. It’s just the man next to him and his stoic face and messed up hair.

“Is that okay?” he asks him, and Sam can’t do anything else than nod. He has to take a deep breath, for some reason, as if his lungs grew three sizes. And it feels like someone lit fire sparklers inside his chest.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course it’s okay. I’m just surprised, is all.”

“Good,” his friend replies quickly, before turning his back to him and walking across the room.

He returns not long after, with a familiar white box in his hands, and offers it to Sam before grabbing the beer can again. Leaning back, taking a way bigger gulp than necessary, eyes seemingly avoiding to look him in the eyes.

He really can’t stop looking at Bucky, though. So he opens the box instead, and finds just how familiar it is. Inside it, an ice cream cake. His favorite. Also, the exact same as the one Steve got him just hours earlier.

This is why Sam looks up at the blond’s still turned back for a moment. He’s whistling to the tune of the music.

Then Sam looks back at Bucky, who still isn’t looking at him, and bites his lip. He finds himself clutching the box tightly, fearing it’s a dream that’ll disappear if he startles awake, but none of it fades away and instead he’s stuck in place because… so, not only did his two friends get him cake.

They got him the same cake. Two of them.

His only guess is that they didn’t plan or… coordinate anything, because it’s not like they had much time in town. They made sure to get something there. For him.

Sam can’t quite contain the grin growing on his face.

And, well, his friend is still avoiding looking at him, so he nudges him with his elbow and hopes his, “Thank you,” doesn’t sound too hoarse or low or nervous even though his voice breaks in the middle. He wishes he could call Sarah again, and tell the boys he’s gotten two cakes this year. They’d be ecstatic. And he could forget his confusion for a bit.

Bucky shrugs once again. “It’s the least I could do.”

Hours pass by until the evening announces its presence, and Sam and his friends are each left to their own devices; Steve’s steering while Natasha’s navigating the map, and while he himself was searching for a podcast to shut the world out for a minute he rather just ends up listening to the rain pattering down around them.

One birthday out of the ordinary, that’s for sure. It’s around ten before he sees Bucky again, but he does appear, with a new can of beer and sits on the far end of his bed. His hair’s still damp from the shower, tied up in a bun.

Sam quite likes it when he does that; well, he likes his long hair, it looks like it would be soft. He doesn’t know how he knows that, but… he just knows.

But he’s always blowing strands of hair away from his face, and this way, you can see all his features, every little thing you don’t immediately notice, every tiny waver on his lips and every glint in his eye.

The glint in said eyes appears when they play chess, of course. When Steve shows him one of his drawings, or when he huffs to himself over the book he acquired on the last flea market he found, multiple states over.

Thing is, it was definitely in his eyes when he handed Sam that box. Maybe that’s why he avoided looking at him after the fact.

And well, it’s got Sam’s heart in a twist. This whole day’s got his heart in a twist, really.

Because he misses his little sister and his nephews and his parents. And Riley’s tags against his chest are pressing too fucking hard.

And Steve and Bucky, they… they’re making him feel… how Riley made him feel. Breathless. Light as a feather. Like he could just look at them and everything would be okay despite everything being very, very much not okay these days. They’re just- they’re like that.

Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.

Sam can’t be in love with his best friend. Or his best friend’s friend. Or… both?

He can’t be in love, period. Especially not with his partners in crime, so to speak. Yet, he can’t stop thinking about Steve’s smile and Bucky shrugging like it didn’t matter, but it mattered. It did to Sam. It does.

He shakes his head at himself and wonders if Sarah would do the same. Can you be in love with two people at the same time? It feels very real, but he doesn’t know. Maybe it just overwhelmed him. Maybe his birthday this year makes no sense, which he already knew, but regardless. Maybe they were just being good friends, or maybe they remind him of Riley too much, or maybe those feelings have been there all along and Sam’s been closing them off for too long.

Too many maybes. Way too many.

And apparently, Sam ponders over this for far too long, because the grey skies outside have turned significantly darker and Bucky has disappeared from his bed and instead sits down on his own. He already feels his heart jump into his throat.

“Hey,” the man says, a curious sort of look in his eyes, like he’s trying to read Sam’s mind. He can’t help returning the smile he’s given, instantly feeling at ease in the other man’s company. Steve’s still whistling along to the mixtapes in the cockpit, he can’t quite stop thinking about it, but that seems incredibly far away right now.

“Hey,” he answers. Sam’s trying to read the brunette, but he’s not sure how. Earlier, he grabbed a piece of each cake his friends gave him, and it’s an outstanding cake, almost as good as the one from his childhood, but he really couldn’t stop thinking about what Sarah told him over the phone. You’re worth that risk . “Bucky, can I ask you something?”

He nods. “How do you know it’s my birthday?”

“Hm?”

“I mean,” Sam’s lips feel dry as he speaks, “Did Steve tell you? I just don’t remember it coming up, so-”

“Not today.”

What… what exactly does that mean?

“I don’t understand.”

Bucky’s face morphs into an expression that seems like he’s thinking hard, trying hard to recall something from a long, long time ago. And that turns out to be almost true, “When you visited me in Wakanda for the first time. It was a month before your birthday.”

That is also true. Sam wanted to go back home, trying to think of ways both he and Steve could hide out there but ultimately deemed it too dangerous. He’d never be able to live with himself if he put his sister and nephews in danger. He just couldn't.

“...Right.”

“You talked about Sarah,” he remembers, and the smile on his face grows a little bigger, “I had a sister, too. Older. You said she worries about you a lot. That her laugh is the best thing you know, that she teases you all the time, but you deserve it most of the time, too. Steve said you guys were talking about going fishing when all this is over, that your parents got a boat, because of your family business, uh-”

“Wilson Family Seafood,” Sam blurts out, because he has no idea what else to say.

“That’s it,” the brunette chuckles low, “I’ve always wanted to try seafood. Never did. Stevie won’t because he’s a coward. But he really wanted to meet your family. I get it, they sound lovely.”

So. Sam is rather speechless. All he’s feeling is the heat rising in his cheeks and hearing the rain growing louder. Bucky’s just sitting there with this big smile on his face and he wants to look inside his head and figure out why he’s doing this to him.

“You… you remembered all that?”

The man shrugs. “I did.”

“We weren’t- we barely knew each other, then. We fought all the time before Shuri treated you,” Sam points out.

“I know.”

“But you remembered my birthday, and my family, and-”

“You had orange juice in the morning,” he interrupts, “Steve hates orange juice. It made you laugh, how much he hates it, it’s a whole thing. Your eyes get all crinkled in the corners when you laugh like that, you could barely breathe. You looked really happy and… carefree. I wished you didn’t leave, that first time. I wanted you to stay.”

Oh. Oh.

“Bucky,” he tries, taking a breath. Sam gets this overwhelming urge to not say anything, and instead lean over and close the space between them. Is he overthinking this? “Why did you get me that cake? And why- how do you remember all of this? I wanted to check on you while Steve was undercover but I wasn’t sure if you trusted me enough, without him.”

The man next to him frowns, “It was for your birthday, Sam, I told you.”

“Yeah, but-”

“And I like looking at you.”

Sam thinks his brain might short circuit. He blinks in pure shock at the words, “What?”

“The sound of your voice is... calming. Beautiful. You know, I only acted like an asshole to get you to talk to me. I wanted you to trust me,” Bucky licks his lips, and although it seems like he wants to say more, he opens and closes his mouth within a few seconds.

The sparklers in his chest are nearly turning into fireworks, and Sam honestly doesn’t know how to hold them down. He doesn’t really want to. But he also doesn’t know if Bucky is… if he’s communicating the same feelings as the ones blooming inside himself.

He should ask. But the man next to him is blinking with his long lashes and a shy smile that makes Sam’s words fail him, and instead he feels compelled to ask something slightly different, “What- what are you saying? I mean what are you thinking about?”

They’ve also been inching closer to each other. And the sound of the rain has faded in his ears, because all he’s hearing is his own breathing mixed in with Bucky’s.

Sam can’t really breathe, maybe because he’s a little nervous that his reading of his friend is purely wishful thinking. It’s only been one day, but he’s fallen in love on his birthday, he doesn’t doubt it anymore, at all. Twice. At the same time, it feels like he’s finally breathing after holding his breath for over a year.

The brunette’s smile turns into a smirk that should probably annoy him, but it doesn’t. Just makes his heart beat faster.

“I’m thinking about kissing you,” Bucky says bluntly.

Oh, Sarah would be thrilled to hear this. But first things first, Sam thinks he might be going crazy.

But he’s not, you’re not . He hasn’t felt that swooping feeling in his gut since Riley, and… God. It just feels right, and he’d curse himself for never noticing this till now. But he’s too distracted by his friend’s statement, and how the fireworks in his chest are spreading to his entire body when he looks at Bucky’s face.

Sam’s already moving closer, “You want to kiss me?”

The other man huffs, “Pretty much. If you’d like that, that is.”

And well, he doesn’t need much time to think about that preposition, “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

They’re already practically nose to nose, it's been a long time since he’s rushed to act on something as fast as this, and he doesn’t even need to rush, because Bucky’s lips are on his before he knows it, and they’re chapped and slightly desperate but it’s just… perfect. Those fireworks, Sam’s seeing them under his eyelids and feeling them in his fingertips and it’s the best feeling he’s ever had, quite frankly.

His friend’s hand landing on his thigh is pretty good, too. Sam pulls back to catch his breath, and he feels lightheaded, all the way up in the clouds. Bucky frowns and pulls him back.

They kiss slowly, putting thousands of thoughts into every single one, and now, he can read the brunette like an open book. They fall into the same pace so, so easily. The hand on his thigh doesn’t move, just traces circles with his thumb, until it freezes for a second when Sam decides to hold it. His friend grins and their teeth clash, but neither of them care much.

It feels like forever and yet nowhere near enough time when they finally pull apart, and his companion runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Sam doesn’t want to let go of his hand. Bucky isn’t moving, either.

Now it’s definitely harder for Sam to breathe, but for a very different reason. He thinks it’s stopped raining outside. The brunette tilts his head and stares at him, not intensely, but a gaze that makes the fireworks reduce to a soft, everburning ember. He wishes he wasn’t lost for words. It all just makes sense.

“What are you doing?” Sam blurts out, eyes not leaving his friend’s. He’d like to keep kissing him, but he also craves a lot more sleep than last night. He was so very wrong about his birthday being just another day, this year.

Bucky’s smile isn’t shy anymore, “Looking at you.”

When Sam wakes the morning after his birthday, to the same walls of the Quinjet and the same hum of the engine and the same thin mattress, he feels like everything’s changed.

Steve’s still taking the helm and Natasha’s still cooking with her headphones on, but Bucky is giving him a sly smile over his coffee, which just makes him miss his lips. Too much.

He thinks the fireworks are changing into butterflies, sort of; he feels even lighter than yesterday, and he also fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. The first thing when he opened his eyes being his friend messing up his hair definitely also contributed to the warmth still spreading in Sam’s body.

It does hit him, did their two companions see them? Realise what happened? They aren’t acknowledging it if they did, and the brunette’s throwing secretive glances at him every so often, which just makes Sam full out blush. Bucky smirks every time.

So, yeah, he’s pretty much floating on pink skies this morning, and his little sister would gag at his cheesiness, but he doesn’t care in the least.

He finds himself touching Riley’s tags with his ring finger, through his t-shirt. The metal’s cold, not burning itself into his chest anymore, like it did yesterday morning.

The bliss Sam’s feeling does hit a slight halt, though, when he opens the freezer to his two not yet eaten cakes. Steve.

It’s suddenly like his brain’s going in hyperspeed again, and the thoughts of the blond man echoes in him from the day before. And fuck . That ‘in love with two people at the same time’ thing? It might be true. At least, he feels it glaring at the back of his neck, begging him to not ignore it.

Maybe his birthday was a little, uh, complicated after all. Still sort of is. Sam can’t stop thinking of the brunette’s breath on his lips and fingers caressing his thigh, but he certainly cannot stop thinking of his best friend’s hopeful eyes as he gave him that cake either, the offended look when he told him he didn’t have to, as if not getting him a birthday present was equal to a criminal offense for the blond.

Just as he thought he had something worked out in the middle of this mess, his two friends are haunting his mind. Dammit.

Sam’s unsure if he should talk to Steve about it, if he should tell him and Natasha about the kiss or not, but coincidentally, the blonde woman decides to do a pit stop. Eerily similar to his friend yesterday, she doesn’t really tell them much about where she’s going, but promises she’ll be back in less than two hours. What the hell, they’re hidden in the thick woods, might as well go for a walk and attempt to clear his head when the opportunity hits.

Bucky brushes his hand with his own as they exit the ship, but the man also rushes to the nearest town (Sam’s got a feeling he’s looking for a bookstore) and so that leaves him with the blond himself.

Steve’s looking with the greatest interest at a squirrel collecting its food when he smiles at him, “Wanna join me for a walk?”

His friend looks up with a smile as big as the sun, nodding, “Sure.”

On the walk, they’re getting creative, let’s say. There’s lots of hiking paths in here, not many people, but they remember caps and sunglasses just to be on the safe side. Generally trying to steer in circles around the paths, circulating the ship, not getting farther away than necessary.

Steve whistles to himself, American Pie , Sam recognizes it from Natasha in an instant. And well, that takes him back to his friend humming to Marvin Gaye just yesterday evening, while Bucky kissed him.

They both gave him the same cake. Wait, wait- why is Sam only thinking about that, really, now? Did they plan it?

Doesn’t seem like it, though, considering they both were rather secretive about it. So they didn’t talk at all about it, and it was just an odd coincidence? He knows now that Steve didn’t have to tell Bucky it was his birthday, because the man remembered from that very first visit, and that still makes Sam a little breathless, to be honest.

But this prompts him to voice his thought stream out loud, “Steve?”

“Hm?”

Their arms brush as they walk, comfortingly close, but still… too far away. Perfect distance for friends, he thinks. But… his heart is obviously telling him otherwise. He can almost feel it getting ready for another marathon.

“The cake you got me,” Sam hopes he isn’t stumbling over his words, recalling Sarah’s reassuring statement within his mind. You’re worth that risk , “Did you and Bucky plan it together?”

He didn’t have much of an idea on how to ask otherwise, but he regrets the question when the blond’s face screws up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

His suspicion was correct, it seems. Coincidence. “Uhm, well… I mean, why didn’t you guys just get me one cake together? I love them both, don’t get me wrong, two cakes is way more than I could ask for in our situation-”

“Buck got you cake, too?”

Steve looks rather shocked. He isn’t frowning, per say, but his brows are furrowed as he tries to process the information, and he slows his pace down until he comes to a full stop, back near the ship. Oh god, did Sam just do something very stupid?

“He did,” he replies, smiling hesitantly still, and his friend automatically smiles back, which makes it easier for him to carry on, “I- sorry. I found it strange that you both got me one and thought you must’ve talked about it. But Bucky didn’t say anything about yours either, so I mean…”

Once again, Sam feels his words falter. He also definitely knows he’s blushing again, hard, cause the warmth is rushing through, but the nerves are getting to him, too.

“I’m glad he bought you one, too,” his best friend decides, his face so earnest and honest and kind, it makes him want to scream, “You deserve more than one. And so much more. I wish we could’ve celebrated properly. I know you want to go home, and I still want to meet your sister, you know.”

He sighs heavily, and Sam truly can’t hide his fondness.

“I think she’d love you,” he tells Steve, because he knows it’s true. Then, he’s unsure if he should continue the sentence. Sam’s thinking of Bucky and his stupidly perfect hair. Then he looks at Steve and his calloused hands, and the words hit him like a train before he can stop it coming out of his mouth, “Not as much as I do, maybe.”

There it is. There wasn’t really much denying, was there?

Sam can practically already feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, and the butterflies down in his gut are bashing in the rush of adrenaline and fluttering their wings way, way too fast for him to keep up.

His best friend kicks around a couple of pinecones on the ground before the statement hits him, then, he looks up again, wide-eyed and in an endearing state of total confusion.

“You… you love me?” Steve asks, bafflement evident in his tone.

Sam bites his lip. “Can I ask you something? Will you be honest with me?”

His friend nods immediately, confusion vanishing for a moment, “Always, Sam.”

He needs to take another deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Do you… do you think it’s possible to be in love with two people- or, more than one person? At the same time?”

To Sam’s greatest surprise both yesterday and today, the man in front of him takes barely a second to respond, no time to think it through, no signs of doubt, “Of course. I love Bucky, but I loved Peggy, too. I love Sharon. And I love you.”

Steve seems incredibly shocked at his own confession, just as much as Sam’s himself. Those butterflies must be on a fucking rollercoaster or something, at this point.

Strangely, this lifts the nerves within him so easily, just like yesterday. His breath still feels stuck in his throat, but holy shit, he just can’t stop himself from smiling. His cheeks must be burning hot.

The blond looks a bit confused again as Sam chuckles at himself. He has no idea what he’s doing right now, but the direction it’s going- once again, it just seems right. Feels right. He wants to reach out for his best friend’s hand, but waits, “I’m glad I’m not the only one. I just realised- well, I think I might’ve been in love with both of you for a while, but not realised it until yesterday. You and Bucky.”

Steve’s eyes are shimmering with hope, and so he decides to hell with it, he takes his friend’s hand. And to his precious luck, the blond squeezes his hand back, thumb tracing slow circles in his palm.

“You’re serious?” the blond asks, laughing in disbelief.

“I am.”

“ Holy shit. ”

Sam matches his friend’s laugh, and the forest almost bends to their conversation, wind softening and the trees surrounding them like a cocoon, almost. Reminds him of those fairytales his little sister loved so much, that she insisted on him reading for her because he liked making weird voices and changing the tale, much to her annoyance.

The silence between them is the most lovely thing, just like the one between him and Bucky yesterday, full of expectation but zero tension.

Steve clears his throat, “Sammy, I- sorry, you're just the best person I know, this is too good to be true. I didn’t know if you felt the same… I’m not good at that. Uhm, hinting. Or flirting, I guess. I don’t know what to say.”

His best friend is blushing as much as himself. Naturally, there’s only one thing Sam can think about, “Then come here and kiss me.”

The blond doesn’t need to be told twice, and he loves him even more for it. And Steve’s lips are softer than Bucky’s, but that’s in no way… better, or, like. It’s different. But it’s the same fireworks popping up in the dark under his eyelids again, and that’s a sign.

He’s in love with his two best friends. And they love Sam back. And his racing heart hums softly, like it’s breathing out as much as he is, a calm from all the way back home settling upon him. His friend hums against his lips and moves his hand to the hair at the nape of his neck, gently pulling. It gives him a sort of tingling feeling in all his limbs, to be honest.

They do have to pull apart when the sound of twigs crackling on the ground is heard, they have to stay alert, after all, even it could very well be another squirrel. Instead, it’s Bucky, carrying a book under his arm.

He’s giving them that sly smile again, “You’ve gotten smoother than the old days, Rogers.”

Steve blushes profusely. Sam finds himself laughing again, his nerves long gone, and touches his cheek. His friend clears his throat a little more, “You got the same idea as me, Buck. With the cake.”

The brunette joins them in the clearing, lifting a brow in question, “You mean my idea?”

“Shut up!”

“No, no, you learned from me punk, I’m proud of you,” Bucky laughs, and Steve’s about to slap his arm, if their friend didn’t grab the blond’s hand mid-air, “You’re an asshole.”

Bucky looks at Sam in question, and he answers, “He’s not completely wrong.”

His friend shrugs. “You both love me, though.”

“I do,” he nods, and Steve chimes in with, “Sadly, yes.”

Of course, their companion grins like an idiot, “Now we got that settled, will you kiss me again, Sammy?”

Sam is so fucking lovestruck right now, he’s not scared to admit it. Steve’s hand is still on his neck and Bucky’s taking his hand, and it’s nothing less than perfect. Just like a happily ever after, although he has no idea where they’re going after this, but it only matters to him that they’re together, really. He thinks Sarah will love both of them. He hopes they’ll meet someday, at least. And AJ and Cass, they’d be thrilled, oh my god.

The blond interrupts as Sam’s already leaning in, “Hey! I want a second kiss too!”

He rolls his eyes fondly, “Of course, Stevie.”

Well, it’s almost perfect, until a fourth voice makes them all jump, “You lovebirds need a minute before we take off?”

Nat’s smirking, Steve looks embarrassed and Sam laughs, his air mixed with his two companions and the butterflies’ flutter making him warm and tingly, still. Bucky flips her off. Guess some things never change.

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soulwillower · 4 years

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long way home • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)

requested: please please please do a richie x reader about long way home by 5sos

warnings: nothing really, some mentions of canonic trauma but its really vague and underaged drinking

i was happy to write this bc it def got me out of my slump! lmk if yall want more fics

(also i loved 5sos so much back when the self titled album came out in like 2014. i was such a huge fan in middle school so this was so nostalgic to write!!)

[reader + losers are in their first year of college, set around early summer 1995.]

2.9k words

♡

"i don't really know what else to do. we have an hour and a half until we meet everyone." you say, breaking the momentary silence that had fallen upon the car after bev had climbed out the back. you hum, settling back against the passenger seat, head lulling to meet richie's gaze.

you can't help but smile. he's looking at you - just staring, fingers drumming against the steering wheel. he hums, too, turning his head, arm grabbing the shoulder of your seat as he backs up the car. "i have an idea. let's just go - what?" he asks, smiling with a chuckle as he catches you staring at him.

you blink as you flush, "i don't know. just really missed you." you say with a laugh, shaking your head as memories flood your mind. his face flickers for a second and he shakes his head, hair bouncing slightly in his flattery. "gee, i missed you too. it kinda sucks that we all went to opposite sides of the country."

you blow air from your lips gently in agreement as richie starts to drive somewhere east. "yeah. not seeing you for six months is, surprisingly, pretty shitty." you say, causing richie to snort. "you could barely handle it." he says, hand shifting gears as he stops at a stop sign.

you roll your eyes, but you don't tell him the truth: he's right. "let me tell you, when i got the bear last, i sure wanted to forget all about you." you say, kicking your feet up on his dash.

you and the other losers all split ways after graduation. of course, you all still kept in touch with phone calls, letters, and that of the sort. but you all had found a favorite way to all still feel close together: a toy canvas bear bev found that you all signed and drew on, shipping it around the country and letting it stay with each person for a week.

you'd all been printing photographs of the bear with yourselves at various places around all your campuses and sending them along with the bear as little post cards. the most recent from richie had the tattooed-bear propped next to him at a party, smirking with the bear in a vulgar position that had made you roll your eyes so hard you almost got a headache.

that was in april, and you spent the month and a half after that missing richie and your other dumbass friends so much it hurt.

richie smiles, "oh, yeah. that bear had some fun times with us up in the ol' N-Y-C." "-don't call it that." "-anyways, i did miss you guys, i wish you could meet my roommate, charlie, he's a hoot. i almost wanted to stay up there and have you come to me, y'know?" you nod, all too familiar with that feeling. "yeah, i wanted to do that too. there was some kind of-" you stop, frowning. do you really want to admit this to anyone? will they think it's weird? but then you remember it's richie. "-i don't know, some kind of dread i felt at having to come back here."

it's quiet for a second, and you think you said something wrong, but richie's knuckles tighten slightly and he nods, "me too. i have...bad feelings from this place. i didn't want to say anything, but- i don't know. i feel like something's..." but the thought seems to swim away from his voice, getting lost in the dredges of his brain.

and then as if on cue, the old car bumps its way over a speedbump and you cross past old neibolt street near the tracks.

a sick shiver runs down your spine as your eyes fall on the long road, fading away and extending as far as your eye can see...almost into a foggy dark haze, the train tracks running parallel making you feel desolate.

clouds suddenly move to cover the sun in the sky and you feel cold - you feel like something happened here, something important - but you have no idea. it makes you anxious, so you just swallow, saying nothing and instead looking ahead. richie does the same, and his knuckles are pale against the wheel.

"the only reason i came back was so i could see everyone." you say. it's quiet, but you know richie's agreeing with you.

the car rumbles on, eventually pulling past your old high school. you perk up, pointing to the glass and laughing. "wow, look at that shithole."

"swore we'd never go back there, didn't we? when we left?" richie says, amusement lacing his tone. you're clearly both relieved to have changed the subject, and you nod, chewing your lip. "yeah. you know, i know it was really terrible and stuff, but i have some pretty fond memories from that place."

humming, richie nods and slowly pulls into the parking lot. “remember those days?” he says, “kickin back in the ol’ schoolyard during lunch.”

you do remember those hot days, richie, bill and bev smoking cigs while you and eddie play a game of marbles or scramble to copy richie’s math homework. ben reading a book, mike eating stan’s sandwich. the heat barreling down on the eight of you...

he stops the car next to the football field and you snort slightly at its misery in the dying purple and blue of the summer twilight. "remember those bonfires that were always over in the woods right there?" he points a chipped nail towards the dense trees on the other side of the field, and you can see it.

the crackling of the wood, the orange glow reflecting the light strands of stan’s dark curls. there’s a sea of students from your class and the class above, everyone rowdy with drunken fun. there’s laughter drowned out by the boombox placed on the outskirts, blasting a salt-n-peppa song that has eddie bouncing around with some kids from track. over to the side, you can nearly see bev's lips curl around a note as richie strums on someone else's guitar, putting together some surprisingly pleasant chords while mike throws twigs into the fire, singing softly with richie and bev.

you can almost smell the smoky hot air from those nights and you remember the odd sensation of feeling invincible back in those days, when your greatest fear was nothing more than coming across your parents when you were too hungover to remember anything the next morning.

it’s almost melancholic, the realization that you’ll never have those years again. you’ll never have your friend group in the same way as you did in high school, and it was barely over a year ago. it hurts a bit, until you realize you’re here, in the car with richie.

but still, despite the feeling, you grin. “why did we think it was a good idea to party so close to the school?”

richie chuckles, “it was safer. for some reason.”

it makes you smile, "i wonder if those pabst cans are still hidden in all those hollow logs." you muse, a gentle smile splaying over your lips. richie huffs a small laugh at the memory of jorge garcia drunkenly stuffing the empty beer cans quickly into the log when the cops came.

a car pulls into the vacant lot behind you, and richie takes the liberty of driving away again, still not really sure where you're going.

the trees roll past, and soon you're passing through the downtown section of derry, causing the two of you to fall silent as your eyes flick up and down the nearly desloate streets. the aladdin passes by quickly and you remember going to see so many films with the others for less than five bucks a pop, richie slipping an arm around your shoulders and whispering in your ear about the weird worker who always gave you the eyes.

you smile lightly as your eyes fall to look ahead, passing the corner store. you remember how many times you and richie and stan stopped there after classes or during lunch to grab slushes while the workers weren’t looking. you remember the sticky fingers and bright blue tongues.

then as you stare more at the ugly front of the store, memories from middle school scratch the surface of your brain. "didn't the boys..." you say, perking up as you turn and watch it pass, richie looking at you attentively. "-eyes on the road, rich." you say absent-mindedly, "...didn't they... steal stuff from there? i can't remember why... it was for ben. tissues?" you ask, tilting your head. richie's brows furrow. "i had to stay outside with him, all i remember is bein' pissed i couldn't go in. dunno why, though." he mutters. you hum, sinking back in your seat.

"crazy, how quickly you forget your childhood." he says quietly.

the town slowly fades away before your eyes, and its just then that you realize you're going the opposite way from bill's. then it's plain grassland and marshes, dipping into the barrens. your lips twitch and the silence, while pleasant, makes you feel nervous.

you look to richie, all nervous slowly releasing from your body.

you feel stupid for thinking it, and you don't dare say it, but there's something really sweet about being in the middle of nowhere with him.

you feel like driving along this ugly, terrible road on the outskirts of a truly ugly and terrible town with someone as beautiful and captivating as richie is such an important moment; as if the roads along here are a place only you and richie share to yourselves.

"i kind of like taking the long way home with you." you let slip instead, instantly feeling hot and panicked as the words leave your mouth. "y-you know, because i just really didn't want to- er, i don't like being-"

as you stutter out some excuses, he leans forward towards the wheel, face turning to you with a smirk. "oh?" he asks. you feel flustered, your hands sweating and heart tingling as you stare at his handsome face.

"god, sorry." you say, feeling flushed, "i don't know why i keep rambling. it's so awkward."

"y/n, you could talk about anything." he says with a laugh, and you look at him, trying to ignore the sheer zoo of animals parading around in your stomach and instead escaping this moment with a sarcastic, "even dead squirrels?"

he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, his hair glinting in the light. "yeah, whatever baby. i just don't wanna be wasting my time alone when i could be here with you. that's what i'm trying to say."

and the stupid pet name almost makes you snort but you also get butterflies, the words that he's said making you smile so wide you're almost embarrassed. "yeah, well." you say bashfully, "i guess spending my time with you is, like... the best part of coming back home."

you avoid eye contact, staring out the window as you pass the house of your junior year bio partner. "hey," richie nudges your jaw and you almost jump at the feeling of his cold ring against the warmth of your skin. he speaks softly. "i'd never let you down, you know." he says, mischief in his eyes. you smile against his hand and look at him, his blue eyes warm and inviting and looking like home.

your eyes fall back towards the windshield and you see a sign up ahead. shifting, you look at richie again to find him still staring.

he's got such a terrible habit of watching you instead of the road (he has since high school), and that combined with his lead foot (also since high school - wentworth tozier was a menace on the streets) has you conditioned into reminding him of every obstacle that he may run into while driving.

"stop sign, richie." you mutter, knowing in his ramble he won't notice it (it happened way too many times as high schoolers). he seems to not really hear it, and you say again, "stop sign!"

just before it's too late, the car lurches as he slams the breaks and you just barely hit the white line, your hands bracing yourself against the dashboard. "oh my god." you hiss, shaking your head. richie's laughing.

"we've been hitting every red light. can't i just have one pass to not stop at one of these things?" richie says. you roll your eyes with a slight head shake. you can't believe him.

"you'll be the death of me, tozier." you mutter. richie's still laughing quietly and then he takes a big sigh, hand reaching out. you lean forward, hand reaching for the volume knob on the stereo just as richie does the same, and your hands brush by accident. you feel warm and instead of pulling away, his hand covers yours and he gently turns your hands, bringing up the volume of a green day song. it's seemingly just in the background as you watch your hand in richie's, then slowly turning your gaze up to his face.

he just stares at you as you stare back, wanting so badly to kiss him but wondering if he feels the same.

"hey." he whispers, quiet for the first time possibly ever. "hey." you respond softly, watching as he comes a bit closer. his hand is still in yours. "i am so happy to be home. with you." he says sincerely, his eyes wide and honest behind his glasses and his smile soft. your breath catches slightly and you smile, "me too. i always feel like this is the way it's supposed to be. u-us."

something in richie's eyes change, a light of sort, and then he's leaning into you and you're kissing.

his hand that isn't in yours falls to softly rub your thigh and you're taking a shuddering breath as your lips touch his. he tastes like mint chapstick and those stupid red-hots he was eating earlier, his lips slightly cold but his tongue warm as he slowly pulls you closer to him.

your mind almost falls blank as the world melts away, the only thing in your mind is how long you've missed out on this - richie is kind of unexpectedly a fantastic kisser. you pull him closer by his hair as his tongue grazes yours, his thumb tilting your jaw for a better angle.

but suddenly a horn honks loudly behind you and you both spring apart, your stomach panging with anxiety at the noise.

"shit." you hiss as you remember you're at a stop sign. richie snorts slightly, a smirk on his face despite the blush on his high cheekbones, feet going back to the gas pedal and clutch. his hand leaves your thigh as he drives forward and you clear your throat as the car turns behind you at the intersection, leaving you two back in the middle of nowhere with just you two.

it's tense for a few minutes, neither of you two really talking and you can tell the tension is going to kill richie, his hand twitching on the shift and his leg bouncing.

you break the silence after a couple more moments, "did you want to pull over-" "-yes." he says quickly, car almost swerving as he pulls off the road near the quarry. you laugh and grip the handle of the car as you slide to a stop and he laughs too, the feeling of glee unmatchable.

you both unclick your seatbelts after gaining a few breaths, and then you're leaning over the console to kiss richie hard enough on the lips that he falls back towards the window. he holds your face with his hands and he laughs a bit into the kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip before tugging it. "goddamn, you're eager." he mutters into your mouth.

you smirk, pulling back. "fine, i don't have to kiss you. we have to be at bill's soon, anyways." you say, feigning a fake dismissive voice.

"wait, no, no. we've still got 20 minutes." richie defends after glancing at the stereo on the dash. his eyebrows raising in a plea. you giggle, leaning towards him and bringing your arm over. he's beaming as your face nears his and he moves to kiss you but you turn your head, instead letting his lips graze your neck as you lean to turn off the headlights.

"tease." richie mutters hotly against the skin of your neck before biting down softly, kissing over the skin. "i thought you said i was eager?" you say with a teasing smile. he hums, "y'know, it's pretty unfair to be teasin' me, toots. i've been eager to kiss you since we were seventeen." he says, and you can't help but smile, pulling him in to a kiss as his hands slide up your thighs and yours tangle in his messy curls.

you pull away slightly, "you want to get in the backseat?"

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#richie tozier x reader #losers x reader #losers club x reader #bill denbrough x reader #stanley uris x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #beverly marsh x reader #mike hanlon x reader #ben hanscom x reader

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doomonfilm · 3 years

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Ranking : Gus Van Sant (1952-present)

I was somewhat familiar with Gus Van Sant prior into taking the deep dive through his catalog, but he was certainly a man that I thought I had a handle on. I knew he had more than a few amazing films under his belt, but the recent years had not been kind to him (see the shot taken at him in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back). I knew that he was from the Pacific Northwest (Oregon specifically), and his coming of age in an area that embraces weirdos and outsiders had an impact on him as a human and as a creator. I knew that films like Milk and Good Will Hunting had taken Van Sant to the highest heights, while the collective panning of films like Psycho and Last Days served as valleys in a career full of glorious peaks.

What I came to discover, however, was a man with genuine creative integrity, and lots of it. I found a director who understood his characters and actors on a human level, and shared them with viewers in ways that helped rich connections develop. I saw a director who was not afraid to make those that society often considers outcasts the emotionally rich and important centers of his narratives. I watched Gus Van Sant present, explore, develop and refine his style over deeply independent and infamously studio-driven projects, giving all experiences as much care and attention as he was able. I saw films I was familiar with find placement behind films I was new to, I discovered that his recent creative years have not been as kind to him as the first two-thirds of his career, and I can see that there still may be a bit of a smolder left in his creative fire.

Ranking directors is a labor of love, but by no means do I consider myself the definitive professional on film canon. I enjoyed all of the Gus Van Sant films I watched on some level, and as always, for those brave enough to interact, I’d be curious to see where you would make adjustments to the list. But enough introduction talk, let’s get into what you folks came for!

17. Restless (2011) There are things about Restless that I want to love without judgement. First and foremost, Mia Wasikowska is an absolute treasure who shines in this performance from the earlier portion of her career. The portrayal of Hiroshi is one of the more subtle, substanced and interesting ways of using a ghost within the film framework. As minor a thing as it may be to the casual moviegoer, some of this film’s technical aspects are astounding, specifically the costuming and the lighting choices. Where the film distracts me, and therefore drops in these rankings, is where it takes the YA approach to the romantic drama, with a healthy dose of manic pixie dream girl energy thrown in for good measure. When it comes to displaying romance on-screen, be it teenage or otherwise, there are no expectations, even for a director with a distinct style. Where my issues arise are in the way that death is handled in this film… while I do understand that not every film has to be a distinct statement for a director (especially a film written by another individual), Gus Van Sant had already established a very mature approach to the subject of death, and the way that death and the manic pixie dream girl aspects are intertwined feels more on the amateur side than I am comfortable with for a Gus Van Sant film. Maybe giving the impossibly troubled young man a muse with an expiration date as his way to find the best version of himself is a stroke of genius that provides a gateway for deep commentary on the concept of the manic pixie dream girl, but the film is so approachable and not the type to bare teeth (be it satirically or otherwise) that I doubt there is any subtext to its intention. For that reason, this film finds itself on the bottom half of the Van Sant canon.

16. Don't Worry, He Won't Get Far on Foot (2018) After the critical and box office disappointment that was The Sea of Trees, director Gus Van Sant had quite the hill to climb with his next film, and with his adaptation of Don’t Worry, He Won’t Get Far on Foot, it seemed he was able to right those respective ships. Strangely, the film failed to connect with me, and as far as I can tell, it seems to be the victim of an “all sizzle, no steak” scenario. The film is certainly a showcase of a very diverse cast, and based on both the flashback-based and group therapy approach to the story, there are a wealth of opportunities to create memorable moments. Unfortunately, and perhaps due to an oversight on my end, I failed to find enough substance during my viewing of the film to prop up the parade of moments. What it felt like I was left with, sadly, was a Simple Jack-level approach to conveying a paraplegic-centered story, which undercut the fact that the film is actually telling the true story of cartoonist, artist and musician John Callahan. That’s not to say that the film doesn’t have it’s positive aspects, such as the John Callahan illustrations and the animated versions of his work, but those positive aspects feel sparse in comparison to how much the film relishes in what feels like Oscar bait. If nothing else, see this film for Jonah Hill, because it took me much longer than it should have to recognize him, partly due to his impressive weight loss and partly due to how dedicated he is to achieving the film’s period look.

15. The Sea of Trees (2015) Death is no stranger in the films of Gus Van Sant, but I don’t feel that it would be bold to state The Sea of Trees deals with death in the most direct manner. For those that subscribe to grief having stages, this film accounts for all of them in some way, shape or form during the course of the narrative as we watch Arthur Brennan fall apart and rediscover himself in the wake of losing Joan Brennan, his wife. Placing the film in Aokigahara (aka the "Japanese suicide forest") not only gives the film a sense of natural beauty, but a foreboding sense of dread and despair as well. The core cast is as strong as any found in a Van Sant film, with Matthew McConaughey, Ken Watanabe and Naomi Watts all turning in solid performances. Sadly, the film falters in one very core aspect : sympathy for the protagonist. I found myself feeling very bad for Joan Brennan as I watched her arc, and despite knowing nothing about Watanabe’s character portrayal of Takumi Nakamura, I found myself sympathetic to him based solely on what he was emoting. Arthur Brennan, however, is interesting in all the wrong ways… he is extremely cold and purposefully flat when introduced, the moments we share with the Brennans only seem to show Arthur finding joy at the expense of Joan’s pride, his view of the loss of his wife (and his world view in general) seem to be extremely self-centered, and when he does show heroic attributes they are rooted solely in self-preservation. Perhaps if Van Sant had not already made such eloquent reflections on death via The Death Trilogy and Paranoid Park, The Sea of Trees could have been seen in a different light, but when you set such a high bar for your work, returning to stereotypical storytelling can feel flat and uninspired.

14. Last Days (2005) Last Days is a film with a weird energy and aura surrounding it… in some ways, it feels like the most performative film not only of the Death Trilogy, but out of the entire Gus Van Sant catalog. At the risk of using too negative an adjective, it also feels the most exploitive, though neither of these observations are necessarily meant to be a knock against the film. The Death Trilogy could not help but be exploitive at its root, as each film was inspired by an infamous death event, and with Michael Pitt’s Blake meant to be an avatar for Kurt Cobain, it would be simple to take the film at face value for some sort of glamourized and idealized fictional retelling of his tragic final moments, not to mention a few stylistic nods to iconic Cobain-related imagery. What that viewer would be missing, in my opinion, is a film looking to make some familiar points on outsider culture (specifically alternative rock and roll counterculture and addict culture) minus all the glamour and shine. While Blake’s house is grand, it’s decrepit and in a state of disrepair… despite it being isolated, expected and unexpected guests arrive constantly, not to mention an intrusive ringing phone that connects Blake to outworld obligations… Blake has a number of people living with him, but he almost never interacts with them. Michael Pitt is done up to look so similar to Kurt Cobain that much of the narrative background is implied, and what we are left with is the Death Trilogy style implemented and fused onto a loose leaf narrative with just enough structure to let the supporting actors have isolated memorable moments while we watch Pitt’s Blake decay in the ways that many of us Cobain fans ruminated on in the wake of his sudden and tragic death at the height of his tortured popularity.

13. Gerry (2002) At the risk of sounding cliché, Gerry may be the most fascinating film in Gus Van Sant’s canon. It marks a clear and definitive break in convention from a director that seemingly never cared too much for convention anyway. Multiple aspects of this film make it extremely unique : both characters referring to one another by the same name (though Gerry eventually evolves into an all-purpose non-specific descriptor), a seemingly absent narrative, a shared goal between the characters literally referred to as “the thing” in order to purposely keep viewers in the dark and, perhaps most importantly, a deliberately methodical pacing that pushes even seasoned film lovers to the limits of their patience. The film is beautiful, and that is a fact that cannot be denied… the painterly shot compositions of our characters in the isolated desert, the unfathomably long tracking shots that pull us deeper off the beaten path and the sonic stillness (due to a largely absent score that is replaced with the sounds of nature) either commit you fully to the experiment or come off as massively pretentious. To view the film through that secondary lens, however, is to miss the point of it all. Once it is understood that Gerry marked the entry point for Gus Van Sant’s Death Trilogy, you began to realize that Van Sant, in tandem with Matt Damon and Casey Affleck, are giving us an understanding of how we should view the trilogy, and how open-minded we should be in processing what is given to us, like some early high-concept version of what Quentin Dupieux would later go on to master in a more abstract manner.

12. Mala Noche (1985) It’s fitting that this was a feature-length debut from a driven and working director, as it has a very distinct look and feel to it that immediately lets you know you’re dealing with an innate storyteller and someone who has spent time observing the human condition. In terms of visual and narrative balance, Gus Van Sant utilizes what feels like a mix of John Cassavetes and Jack Kerouac, respectively. Van Sant’s use of titles in the film is striking, specifically in terms of the handwritten opening credits and the Dr. Pepper ad copy used to subtitle the Spanish language dialogue. Focusing so heavily on immigration and homosexuality in 1985 is a bold choice, especially as neither group had yet to benefit (even if only minimally) from the onset of politically correct culture policing. While the film was more than likely shot in black and white due to budgetary constraints, the infusion of somewhat modern elements (for the time) gives it a youthful and forward-thinking energy. Having a film of this nature lean so heavily on multilingual and multicultural elements is refreshing, and even more impactful when examined under the boorish and (at times) tone deaf application that humanizes these elements. For all of these aspects of the film, however, when examined at the pure narrative foundation, what we find is a story about how love can blind us from the reality we inhabit, and how we often choose to ignore the obvious when romance and romanticism enters the picture.

11. Psycho (1998) Of all the films in the Van Sant catalog, perhaps the bravest, boldest and most baffling entry is his nearly shot for shot remake of the iconic Alfred Hitchcock thriller and cinematic game changer Psycho. Remakes were certainly not a new or unheard of practice at the time of the Van Sant Psycho release, but most directors opt to put significant twists or updates into their retelling of most remakes, and most films chosen do not hold the lofty stature and position that Psycho does when it comes to remakes. Van Sant’s approach not only made viewers keenly aware of just how direct the homage was, but in some places, modern touches were added in very subtle ways to make the movie more palatable for modern audiences, including more salacious references to sexuality, sound design choices in both the diegetic and symbolic realm, and even an update or two to iconic scenes meant to make us much more uneasy with the Vince Vaughn portrayal of Norman Bates. The actors cast were all famous and respected enough to keep the film’s timeless feeling in-tact, even if the remake could be taken as its own weird and warped project. Personally, I’ve always loved this remake, and taken it as an experiment on the highest commercial level, and a signal to all that Van Sant (at the time) was done with the traditional approach to filmmaking and concepting.

10. Paranoid Park (2007) While many movies centered around skateboarding spend their time and design budget trying to make the outsider nature of the practice look “cool”, Paranoid Park spends its time making sure that the isolation, deep focus and rebellious attitude that come with skateboarding were more authentic than they were appealing. High school is already a very taxing and polarizing section of juvenile development, and based on your perception at the time, the weight that the world unloads on you can feel wholly unbearable. Perhaps this is what makes Paranoid Park such a tense film… that natural teenage angst is already imprinted into the film (and amplified due to the casting of relative unknowns), but Gus Van Sant’s signature use of alternative film stocks, obscure soundtrack and expressive, layered sound design but you square in Alex’s head from the opening moments. As the narrative unfolds, we realize that Alex is not only dealing with standard-issue teen stress, but has unwillingly found himself involved in the type of events that change an individual’s world. This film plays well as the first film post-Death Trilogy, as it deals with the gravity of mortality head-on much like the aforementioned three films, but does so from an adaptive stance rather than one based on true events. If you’re a fan of skater flicks, movies with strong teen acting, or little-known Gus Van Sant gems, then Paranoid Park is a gem waiting for discovery.

9. Finding Forrester (2000) Gus Van Sant has always had a way with stories that dive below the surface of the human experience and condition, so it makes sense that his attempt at a New York-based movie about people living in “the hood” would cover an array of topics with masterful subtlety, specifically the topics of race relations, generational gaps and the blurry line between education and exploitation. The casting on this film is extremely strong… then newcomer Rob Brown gives a riveting and dynamic lead performance, it’d be harder to cast a more perfect curmudgeon than Sean Connery, and appearances by F. Murray Abraham, Anna Paquin, Busta Rhymes and a Matt Damon cameo all stand out. Speaking of Damon, Finding Forrester shares a similar energy to Good Will Hunting, but the proximity of release ultimately held Finding Forrester from finding its proper audience (no pun intended). I wish I had more to say about this film outside of my personal feelings and connections to the story (which I will save for a dedicated deep dive in the future), but Finding Forrester is one of those films that has no trouble speaking for itself.

8. Promised Land (2012) As of the point that this blog post was created, this film stands as the last of the great Van Sant creations. There is something about the Gus Van Sant approach to filmmaking that works best with “salt of the Earth” types, and with Promised Land being centered around the practice of fracking, much of that down-home nature is immediately baked into the story. Speaking of the story, the film was co-written by the characters who ended up being the protagonist and antagonist of the picture, respectfully, which created an electric main dynamic that served as the spine for many other strong dynamics present in the film. In terms of the cinematography, much of Van Sant’s bold approaches and stylistic shifts are absent, save for a few beautiful bird’s eye view perspective shots that give you a real idea of what rural America looks like. Van Sant is no stranger to stacked casts, but he gets some truly top notch names to take part in this affair, and true to the clout behind these names, the performances are as stellar as they are believable and natural. The film also touched a nerve with the actual oil industry due to some of its comments on fracking, despite it not having the reach or success of other Van Sant films. While possibly an indicator that Van Sant would be making a stylistic shift, Promised Land still manages to capture what makes Van Sant his best self in terms of not only presenting real people, but topical and important situations.

7. Milk (2008) Gus Van Sant is clearly no stranger to having representation for the gay community in his films, so it makes sense that one of the hallmark films in his canon would center around gay rights activist and politician Harvey Milk. Much like JFK crystalized Oliver Stone, or Spike Lee was raised to another echelon by Malcolm X, Van Sant found a second round of Academy Award-level validation via this biopic while solidifying himself as a creative who could go back and forth effortlessly between big budget studio films and independent projects. With Sean Penn giving one of his signature chameleon-like performances and leading the pack, this Van Sant production is filled with tons of burgeoning talent who have since gone on to make names for themselves in the industry, including the likes of Emile Hirsch, Diego Luna, James Franco, Alison Pill and others, plus a standout performance from Josh Brolin (who also depicted George W. Bush in the same year for the aforementioned Stone). While it may not be the most technically marveling film of Van Sant’s career, it is clearly one of his most important, and the way that it handles the messages it intends to share is as confident as it is even-keeled, which is important for a film that could have easily become a soapbox for espousing personal beliefs and political agendas.

6. Even Cowgirls Get the Blues (1993) This Gus Van Sant adaptation of the famed author Tom Robbins novel shares the same creative energy of films like Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Natural Born Killers, Harold and Maude and so on in the sense that it is a very expressive film with a very specific idea it is looking to present. Where the aforementioned films explored ideas of free love taken to the extreme, the toxicity of media, love without judgement and so on (respectively), Even Cowgirls Get the Blues puts femininity and identity outside of the male gaze squarely in its crosshairs. Uma Thurman takes on the role of Sissy with wide-eyed zeal, floating through a series of hitchhiker-based adventures until her reluctant visit to the Rubber Road Ranch helps her find the missing piece of her puzzle. Seeing a bizarre, star-studded tale of a woman finding her agency sounds like it would work on the surface, but from what I could find, the film failed to make a connection with audiences and is considered a commercial and critical failure (which is probably why it was the toughest film to track down on this list). That being said, I’m a sucker for films that catch a bad rap, especially when the combination of such a unique director and visionary author are the foundation of it, because it makes me curious about why I find connection where others did not… who knows, maybe it was those extremely distracting rubber thumbs (the only real knock I can make on the film), or maybe the Tom Robbins style is tough to transfer from page to screen, but for my money’s worth, I can see the vision.

5. My Own Private Idaho (1991) Somewhere within the intersection of films like Midnight Cowboy and Fight Club lies My Own Private Idaho, an extremely personal and nuanced film that covers many topics with depth and an ease that comes with wisdom and experience. For example, when it comes to views on identity, we get two rich narratives that could easily both be their own film : Mike (portrayed by River Phoenix) is going through a crisis of identity based on a sordid history with his mother and absentee father that makes his search for love transform into a life of hustling as a way to find momentary intimacy; meanwhile, Keanu Reeves (who plays Scott) is an entitled young man awaiting an inheritance that decides to spend the time until it happens “slumming” with those many would consider the outcasts of society, much like the “tourists” spoken of by Edward Norton��s narrator in Fight Club. The struggle with masculinity in the face of homosexuality is all over this film, from its multiple male on male connections to the very toxic manner that the core group interacts with one another, when they are not grieving or putting their livelihood in danger via petty crimes. In terms of Van Sant style, the film is one of his most innovative (outside of the film holding the top spot) in terms of looks, with its unique range of colorful title cards, the pinhole vision that Mike uses on his road, or even the standout magazine rack sequence. The film is also a perfect follow-up to Drugstore Cowboy, and could easily double feature with it to this day. As someone not wholly familiar with Shakespeare’s Henry plays, I did not catch that My Own Private Idaho was an adaptation, so I will not only have to revisit it with that familiarity in tow, but I will have to take a look into James Franco’s re-cut, My Own Private River, as well.

4. Elephant (2003) Based solely on the nature and definition of a trilogy, a second film can make or break things. Gerry and Last Days share similarities in how quiet and isolated they are, so it makes sense that Elephant, part two of Van Sant’s Death Trilogy, would in many ways be the meat of the trilogy sandwich in terms of style and thematic substance. Elephant operates on several distinct levels based on Van Sant’s observations of the world going into the new millennium, as the film allowed him a foundation for both experimentation and examination by proxy. While the long takes and vast amount of distance traveled during said takes was present in all three films of the trilogy, Van Sant made a concentrated effort to make the shots look and feel similar to that of video games like the later Grand Theft Auto entries, hence a number of the shots being positionally locked during travel (often times a few feet behind the character at the center of that moment’s focus). There are ramp-downs of the frame rate to punctuate certain moments, and quite often the camera is thrown on a tripod and allowed to take in the array of high schoolers living their standard life. It is this mundane world-building aspect that not only gives the viewer a rapid but deep look into a handful of character’s lives, but it gives you a sense of the school’s social hierarchy while forcing you to reflect on where you once stood within it. Per the film’s clever title, the elephant in the room eventually appears in the form of Eric and Alex, the pair of school shooters meant to reflect the Columbine Massacre perpetrators. While school shootings weren’t an unknown phenomenon going into the 2000’s, Elephant became prophetic in its vision by releasing right before the numbers started rising at an alarming rate on these incidents. In that sense, Elephant holds the dual distinction of not only being one of Van Sant’s best films, but one of his most important. I will soon be looking into the 1989 Elephant film as well.

3. Drugstore Cowboy (1989) The power of Drugstore Cowboy as a modern-day narrative tragedy about the epidemic of prescription drugs, the dark allure of crime and the oddball way that broken people find solace in one another is immediately evident to anyone who has had the pleasure to see Gus Van Sant’s studio directorial debut. Where the film really stands out however, in my opinion, is the way that Van Sant is able to achieve his major studio look while deeply applying a very artistic and personal aesthetic to the cinematography and editing. The traditional looks are interspersed with the use of different film stocks, subtle blends of animation and flashes of stylistic edits that were almost certainly an inspiration for Darren Aronofsky’s “hip-hop editing” style. Add to this an incredibly intuitive and expressive core cast driven by the chemistry between Matt Dillon and Kelly Lynch (and a very early Heather Graham supporting appearance), plus a strong appearance by the always memorable Max Perlich, a fiery James Remar performance and an iconic cameo from William S. Burroughs. The jazz-influenced score not only makes key scenes livelier, but it is a symbolic statement on the drug use depicted in the film, while simultaneously playing counter to the soundtrack choices. Period, point-blank, Drugstore Cowboy is the kind of film that surely put the world on notice, and was a clear signal of the magnificent work that would follow.

2. Good Will Hunting (1997) If held up to the standards of what people consider to be good (or even classic) film, Good Will Hunting more than holds up to scrutiny. Visually there are a small handful of flourishes, and having Elliot Smith’s music accompany Will’s painful but enlightening journey has only become more of a bittersweet sting as the years go by. In terms of performances, everyone brought their A+ game to the table, be it the leading performances of Matt Damon, Robin Williams or Stellan Skarsgård, the supporting performances of Ben Affleck or Minnie Driver, or even the engaging nature of Cole Hauser and repeat scene stealer Casey Affleck. After a flurry of dedicated fandom viewings in the years following this film’s release, a very long period away from the film where I had leagues of personal growth, and a revisitation for this set of rankings, what I have discovered is that Good Will Hunting presents a wish fulfillment fantasy that was nearly incapable of being a reality in the pre-internet age for anyone other than a character like Will : an undiscovered genius with a degree from the school of hard knocks. In a world where people often wish they had the correct answer to every question, the looks and personality to be a social magnet, and the ability to back up any tough talk with stone hands, Will Hunting stood as an idealized example you wished you could peel off the screen and have some beers with. As the internet has invaded our lives, however, most everyone has turned into a keyboard version of Will Hunting, looking for fights online when not having briefly intimate Google sessions to flex our supposed knowledge. Much like Will, many people find that the knowledge minus the wisdom of worldly experience and vulnerability leaves you a shell of a person filled to the eyeballs with regret, and perhaps that is why this film only gets better as the years go by, and remains among the best of the Van Sant creations.

1. To Die For (1995) For the longest time, I avoided To Die For simply because I was not a fan of Nicole Kidman… the vast majority of her roles held no interest to me prior to To Die For (it took Eyes Wide Shut for me to really start paying attention to her), and because she was so key to the film, there was never a sense of urgency about seeing it. As time went by, however, I started to hear rumblings that To Die For may have been a bit ahead of its time, to the point that technology and social practices have caught up to some of the ideas presented in the film. I finally watched it for this ranking set, and man, I really missed the boat on this one. Plain and simple, this film is pure genius on every level. The presentation starts off documentary-esque, which not only allows for expedited distribution of backstory information, but immediately gives you an idea for the personalities of our key characters. Kidman’s portrayal of Suzanne stood as the textbook example for what has become commonly known as sociopathy, with her blind desire for fame and respect leading to a wake of human destruction. In terms of narrative pacing, the film proceeds like a match dropped at the endpoint of a long gasoline trail, slowly drifting towards the eventually point that everything blows up and damage must be assessed while blame and accountability must be handled, resulting in a truly powerful ending more than deserving of the heavy lifting that precedes it. The 24-hour news cycle was on the horizon in 1995, daytime talk shows and MTv’s The Real World had not shifted into the reality TV landscape that we know today, and while a few high profile cases such as the Menendez Brothers and Pamela Smart trial (the loose inspiration for this film) had happened, the bombshell and watershed trail that was the O.J. Simpson murder case was hot on the heels of To Die For’s release (the same month, actually). Stylistically, the film also bears striking resemblance to an updated version of Sunset Boulevard, be it knowingly or not. Long story short, the best films not only comment on the times in which they are created, but gain relevance as time passes, and To Die For handled both of these things phenomenally.

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haberdashing · 3 years

Text

What A Tangled Web We Weave (19/?)

TMA AU diverging from canon at the end of episode 92. Jon is forced into an arranged marriage by Elias; Martin does what he can to help.

on AO3

Martin took a few tentative steps towards the group of people still remaining in the church; Jon did the same, though he didn’t have quite the same look of trepidation that Martin was sure graced his own face at the moment.

Martin didn’t know what to say, didn’t know where to start explaining everything and making amends, but soon enough, the decision was made for him.

“Can I finally mention the giant spider in the room now?”

Martin could feel the blood drain from his face as Tim spoke, though it wasn’t as though he were giving away any big secret there anymore.

“Yeah, Tim, go right ahead.” Martin paused, thought about his wording a bit, realized that Tim hadn’t seemed to struggle with that reference the same way he had before. “I- I think you could anyway, actually? I mean, I said not to tell people, right, but it’s not telling them if they already know...”

Tim seemed less than impressed with Martin’s reasoning, though he still pressed ahead without hesitation.

“Martin has been a spider monster this whole time, and he made sure I couldn’t tell any of you.”

“Wait, what?”

“What do you mean, ‘this whole time’?”

“You did what?” Jon’s voice was soft, but it cut worse than Tim’s just the same, and Martin could feel the weight of Jon’s gaze upon him as he worked out how to respond.

“Okay, you’re not wrong, but... first off, it’s been like two weeks, that’s not that long in the greater scheme of things, is it? And, and secondly, I didn’t mean to do that to you. I told you that already, Tim. You know that.”

“Do I?” Tim’s gaze was filled with fire now. “Do I know that? Or- maybe you’re going to make sure I think that’s true, make sure I trust you, despite everything, despite myself-”

“I- I wouldn’t do that.” Martin’s voice sounded weak even to his own ears, and he tried to sound more confident as he added, “I won’t.”

“Could you do that?” Melanie’s expression had a certain sharpness to it, like a knife that hadn’t yet determined its next target. “Change our minds about something by just... saying the word?”

“...maybe? I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve tried it.”

“Why don’t you ask Annabelle Cane?” Jon’s voice sounded calmer than the others, but his gaze didn’t waver as he stared down Martin.

“I only met her this morning, and it’s not like she gave me some, some sort of user manual for my spooky spider powers or anything- she’s been less helpful than Elias so far, and you know that’s saying something-”

“And here I honestly thought you two were dancing around each other because Tim liked you. God, that wasn’t even that good of a lie, was it, but I didn’t know what else could be going on...”

“You thought I liked him?”

Melanie shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s what Martin claimed when I asked why you two were being so weird.”

Tim didn’t respond in words, but the way he wrinkled his nose said enough. (Martin tried to tell himself that it was just the prospect of being with an eldritch monster that disgusted Tim, that he’d be equally put off by anybody else with eight eyes who could make people stop moving just by telling them to, but Martin wasn’t so sure.)

“I was planning on telling you before the time came.” Martin tried to sound more confident than he felt. He’d meant to explain sooner, but... but he hadn’t, and whatever excuses he had were just that. “I had a plan, even, I just- didn’t think it would happen this fast.”

“Why did things get moved up, anyway?” Jon’s tone of voice was casual enough, but Martin could feel the question digging into him all the same, the words spilling out before he could second-guess them.

“I don’t actually know. Annabelle said something vague about circumstances changing, and I knew better than to press her further about it. She didn’t tell me until this morning, either. Said she thought I’d do something ‘unwise’ if she gave me more of a warning.”

A brief pause, a breath for air, and then Martin spoke of his own accord. “I don’t suppose Elias explained any more, then, either?”

Jon shook his head. “All I got was a phone call, and he only covered the what, not the why.”

A phone call. Annabelle Cane had been hovering over Martin’s bed before he woke up, and Jon got to be informed by a phone call. It almost made Martin want to laugh, if only because his other instinctive reactions would be even more situationally appropriate.

“Look, unless you guys are going to do more here than just stand around and talk, I’m out.” Tim’s voice was sharp, biting, snapping Martin back to the reality of the situation. (Were those teeth, in that stained glass window up there?) “Not like there’s much to celebrate either, and if it’s pity you’re after, you’ll need to find someone else.”

Martin shook his head silently; he wasn’t sure what he wanted from Tim now, exactly, but it certainly wasn’t pity, especially for a situation that he knew had been largely of his making, consequences of his own choices.

(As much as anything could be called a proper choice when the Web was involved, anyway. Perhaps they’d been planning all this for months, years, decades, longer than he could have possibly imagined. That wasn’t enough to absolve him, though, he knew that much.)

“Nobody’s asking you to stay.” Jon said.

“Yeah, that’s about what I expected.”

Before Martin could ask what exactly Tim meant by that statement, he was gone, fled out the front door faster than Martin had realized he could move.

“I think I’m out too.” Melanie’s voice wasn’t quite as sharp as before, but there was still an edge to it somewhere. The knife had been dulled, that was all. “I’m sure we can discuss... whatever this is later, back at the Institute. This place gives me the creeps.”

Martin nodded as Melanie stalked out, though he did idly wonder if there was more to her escape than her distaste for the odd little church they were in, if she held much the same feelings about Martin’s transformation as Tim and just wasn’t as willing to say as much.

The woman Martin didn’t know spoke up only once Melanie was in arm’s reach of the door. “Melanie, wait-”

“I said I’m out.”

And the door closed behind her.

Then the only ones left were Jon and Martin, Basira who Martin barely knew, and the woman Martin didn’t know at all.

“So.” Basira’s voice was calm as always. “I would give my congratulations if I thought any were in order.”

Martin let out a shaky laugh, and Jon let out a soft snort as he said, “No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“Condolences, maybe?” the stranger said. “Though that’s not quite right either, I don’t think you can find a greeting card for this one...”

Martin smiled at the thought, and Jon broke out into a laugh, short but genuine-sounding.

“The arranged marriage part you might be able to find greeting cards for somewhere.” Jon mused out loud. “But I think the supernatural bit is beyond even Hallmark’s capacity.”

The woman let out a snort not unlike Jon’s own.

“I don’t think we’ve met, have we?” Martin knew he hadn’t met the woman before, but he figured better to hedge his bets and err on the side of politeness just the same. “I’m Martin Blackwood, one of Jon’s assistants... though, er, I suppose you know that much now...”

“Georgie Barker. I’m Jon’s...” Georgie looked over at Jon for a moment before finishing her sentence. “...friend. Jon’s mentioned your name before, it’s good to put a face to it.”

“And it’s nice to meet you, Georgie.” Martin extended his hand, and Georgie joined him in a handshake without hesitation; her hand was big, cool, soft but with a firm grip. “Wait, not- Georgie Barker of What The Ghost?”

“The one and only. Always nice to meet a fan.” Her smile looked a little too wide to be genuine, but Martin supposed it was still better than the alternative.

“Didn’t you get mentioned in a statement once? I think Tim had to call you, was it?”

That wide smile shrank slightly. “Yeah, Melanie’s. We’ve got some mutual friends, one of them ended up weirder than I knew, that’s all there is to that.”

“Are we going to keep making small talk, or do you want to talk about something actually important?” Basira’s voice held only a hint of irritation to it, but that was enough to make her true feelings clear.

“If you’re looking for permission to leave, well, go-” No. Too close to a command. “...you know where the door is.”

“I’m rather enjoying the small talk myself.” Martin looked at Jon, surprised, saw Jon’s nonchalant shrug. “It’s a nice chance of pace, after... everything.”

“Right, well, see you in the office then.”

As the door closed behind Basira, Martin realized that he didn’t actually know how to get to his own home from here when he made his own exit, didn’t even know where “here” was... and his wallet and Oyster card were definitely back in his flat, not in the pockets of this perfectly-tailored suit...

“...I, er, might need help getting back. When the time comes. Annabelle drove me here, but she didn’t exactly set me up for the return trip...”

“I can help you out with that, since we’ll be going together anyway. No reason to overcomplicate things.”

Martin blinked a few times at that. “You’ll be, what, walking me home? Jon, I hardly think that’s necessary-”

“Walking you home and staying there, yes.”

“You don’t need to-”

“I don’t have a place of my own, Martin.” There was a bit of a sigh in Jon’s voice. “I haven’t for... a while, now. Ever since Leitner...”

“Oh yeah.” Martin felt like an idiot now. How had he forgotten about the murder charge that had kept Jon away from the Institute, away from him, only weeks prior?

“I’ve been relying on...” Jon’s eyes flicked over to Georgie for a moment. “...friends for a place to live. But if, if you’re willing to take me in, at least for now... well, it would certainly help spread out the burden, at least.”

“Right. Yeah, not a problem.” Except that his place was a mess and had always been too small and there were probably still cobwebs all over his ceiling, Christ, why couldn’t Annabelle have warned him about any of this... “Not that, that you’re a burden, and I don’t want to pressure you or anything...”

Another glance over to Georgie. “I think it’s probably for the best.”

“Alright, well... if you’re ready, then, feel free to lead the way.”

Jon held the door open for both Martin and Georgie, and crossing that threshold back into the hustle and bustle of London seemed like a dividing line of sorts.

That had all happened, and now here he was, back in the real world, ready to take the Tube home with a multitude of people who didn’t know the slightest bit about the supernatural, would never know that among their number would be a spider monster and an Archivist who knew too much.

God, Martin was married. He was going home with his husband.

He really wished the thought cheered him up more, but all it did was make him feel sick to his stomach as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #the magnus archives au #jonmartin #jmart #the dinghy #web martin #personal #my writing

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windstormwielding · 3 years

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How did you come up with Kotaro's zanpakuto? (i really love the bird theme of his attacks!) did you go through a lot of changes when coming up with names, abilities, and the general concept?

{ ooc } bUCKLE UP KIDDOS ‘CAUSE IT’S TIME FOR SOME LONG OVERDUE GODDAMNED KŌTA META-

Kōta’s zanpakutō was essentially conceived out of my own love for great big storms and heavy winds – and yes, I have a story to go with that! On one occasion many years ago, I hopped on a bus to visit a friend in town, but I was ill-prepared in that it was about to rain heavily and I had jack shit but a jacket. No raincoat and not even an umbrella. I thought I would make it there on time, buuuuut evidently, I did not. It already started raining and thundering hard by the time I walked out of the bus and had to walk a few blocks by myself.

And honestly, Plouton, looking back? I would not have changed a single little detail that day. Those several minutes I spent outside at the mercy of a live thunderstorm left such a huge impression on me! The incessant rain keeping me tethered to the ground, the sheer volume of deafening thunder cracking so hard and so loudly that the air around me quaked... pair that with times I’ve enjoyed feeling myself at the mercy of heavy winds, or even the smell of the outside after rain falls...

...pretty much all of that served as the biggest source of inspiration behind the wind and storm-oriented zanpakutō, and I wanted Kōta to embody that himself.

Besides, aside from Senna herself in Memories of Nobody, the Gotei 13 lacked a dedicated air-manipulating shinigami barring Kensei’s unique take on the topic with Tachikaze, and we’ve only seen antagonists use this power (Dordoni of the Arrancar within the main story, Kariya if you want to go filler with the Bounts... whom I’ve honestly forgotten about prior to creating Kōta WHOOPS) in the traditional sense. Not to mention, air as an element is SUPER malleable and there’s so much you can do with it if you get creative?? So, given we’ve got some real powerful element-leaning shinigami already with water (lbr Kaien would’ve been a beast had he not been nixed), fire (Yama), snow (Tosh), and electricity (Sasakibe), why not keep adding to the idea?

With that, we’ve got the main concept locked down. Powers and general theme? Check. Bird-like zanpakutō spirit? Check. Defined attacks? ...noooooot quite there yet—in fact, those were a fairly late addition well after the blog reboot. As for what led to it, this never took off since the other mun blipped on an indefinite hiatus, but our thread would have likely turned into a fight thread between our muses and uh...

...yeah, I realized named techniques are kind of an important thing to have, especially when writing within the context of an action-oriented series like Bleach. It wasn’t just about the cool factor, but having a readily available kit for reference (for myself, my writing partners, and folks reading in) was a must, not to mention it helped better define just what his main friggin’ weapon is capable of like those of most of the existing cast. In case a fight thread does come around in the future, it’d be an ideal thing to have ready to go and bring him further up to par with other fighters!

Just like that, I subjected myself to extra homework. Coming up with the moves themselves came to me simply enough, in seeing how air was played with in other media I was familiar with (key ones being Sonic the Hedgehog, The Legend of Zelda, and Avatar: The Last Airbender) and fashioning some of my own spins on top of some original ideas. I knew I wanted to lean hard on the bird motif since his zan spirit is a tengu, and given the wide variety of things the element of air/wind can do, I thought to make full connections between the two by theming each special move after certain species of bird! Creating those moves and naming them were the easy parts.

Naming them, that is, in English. Naming them all in Japanese was, by far, the hardest part. Why? Parce que je ne suis pas japonais, et aussi parce que je ne parle pas la langue, you see. On top of language barriers, the Japanese tongue operates on a whole other set of rules, compared to the Latin/Germanic-based ones I’ve grown used to with English, French, and (at one point) German. I did take some Japanese classes as an elective back in university, but that was only in first year – my own understanding, as a result, was threadbare and surface level at best, so that was not going to get me anywhere. I did not want to half-ass it with romaji and I love Bleach too much to not want to do these ideas justice.

I am a stickler when it comes to detail and canon-compliance, so getting the naming right by abiding to the proper conventions as best as I possibly could became my topmost priority. Google Translate was not going to fly because lord knows it’s no good without proper context between wholly different languages in English and Japanese, and it only gets wilder once you throw Chinese into the mix, given I’m supposed to use kanji. Thus, the name of the game here turned out to be “reverse engineering,” and I had to go in accepting I probably wasn’t going to get it 100% right the first time.

“What rules do zanpakutō names and special attack names follow?” “How do I apply on- or kun-reading in spelling out a group of certain kanji?” “Where are the common denominators in those rules that I can identify?” “Which language conventions have I already picked up from watching god knows how much anime over the years that I can replicate?” “Which set of words best conveys this particular English word that has no direct Japanese translation?” “How does [x] roll off the tongue? Does it sound right and fluid enough, or does it still feel super stilted and weird?” It was a loooooooot of this until I was finally satisfied with each individual end result!

Tl;dr: Jisho.org and Wikipedia were godsends during this whole process. I also want to thank @tigrextoque who gave me some helpful pointers after the fact!

ALSO... the ones on the Battle Info page aren’t even all of the ones I’ve thought about. Because I’m a glutton for punishment apparently, I purposely went and submitted a request for a certain ask meme on an ask meme source blog, JUST so I could play around with more ideas that came or would come to mind. This time, however, it was through the form of COMBINATION ATTACKS (which, by virtue alone, are honestly peak awesomeness). Those that implicated other shinigami got new bird motifs to meld the aesthetics of both muses, while I did get a couple of Quincy ones (with their referenced attacks actually using romaji as a base! Whoo-hoo for saving me the effort!) as a bonus to mix things up!

I’ll link them all right here (and later on the Battle Info page) for your convenience:

Noboru no mai, Shiro Fukurō (騰の舞・白梟, Rising Dance, Snowy Owl), with Rukia Kuchiki

Ahōdori Kyōka: Flying Battery (群烏強化: フライングバッテリー, Albatross Strengthening: Flying Battery) with Bambietta Basterbine

Muragarasu Kyōka: Galvano Volley (群烏強化: ガルヴァノボレー, Flock of Crows Strengthening: Galvano Volley), plus upgraded variant Muragarasu Kyōka: Galvano Storm (群烏強化: ガルヴァノストーム, Flock of Crows Strengthening: Galvano Storm), with Candice Catnipp

Hagetaka Rinbu (禿鷹輪舞, Vulture Round Dance) with Rangiku Matsumoto

Senkō-fū: Kitsutsuki (穿孔風: 啄木鳥, Drilling Wind: Woodpecker) with Nemu Kurotsuchi

Gyaku-fū Fūsa: Benizuru (逆風封鎖: 紅鶴, Headwind Blockade: Flamingo) with Byakuya Kuchiki

Hikuidori Hinshō (火食鳥頻傷, Cassowary Frequent Cuts) with Ueno Chie

Yes, “Flying Battery” was a deliberately written Sonic the Hedgehog reference. No, I will never apologize for that.

...might I reblog that meme again in the future though...?

...probably not right away.

So, uh... Plou, I should probably apologize for giving you a lot more than you likely bargained for, but hey, I just didn’t want to leave any stone unturned! Thank you so much for sending me your three questions, I enjoyed writing these little deep dives into my Bleach OC, and thanks for taking interest in Kōta! I hope all of my responses have been both enlightening and to your satisfaction.

#deivorous #{ i’m falling free in the wind ☁ headcanon ☁ }#{ cut for length }#{ whispers in the wind ☁ replies ☁ }#{ beyond the sky ☁ ooc ☁ }#{ ooc: we hope to return to our regular programming tomorrow-! }#{ i just could not focus much until i answered all of these hahahaha- }

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secret-engima · 4 years

Text

Very AU Snip of Calling for Rain verse

(I will explain myself at the bottom of this snip, but for now I want everyone to be surprised. ;))

...

Nyx-kun idly pushed one of his tiny braids behind his ear and it reminded Kushina of an important question, “Say…” he looked up from the notes he’d been scribbling, —he had relaxed enough now in their presence to forget himself and start jotting down notes for another seal, how cute— and made an inquiring noise. Kushina gestured at his braids, “How do you get the ink inside the stone? It’s been driving Minato crazy trying to figure it out, ‘ttebane.”

“Oh,” mouthed Nyx-kun softly. He raised his voice, “I forgot about that. Uh…” he fidgeted, “I could show you? It might be easier than trying to explain.”

“Is it safe?” Minato asked, because he was a wuss like that sometimes, and the glance at her belly told her why.

She glared at her husband and Nyx-kun hurried to answer, “Yes, Yondaime. I perfected that part years ago. It’s perfectly safe to observe.”

Minato relaxed, “Alright then, and please, call me Minato when I’m out of my office.”

She could see the protests getting bottled up and the gears turning in the kid’s head before he tipped his chin and reached into a pouch on his hip. He pulled out a storage scroll and unrolled it on the coffee table. A flick of his fingers and tools puffed out, including an entire sack of rattling stone pieces of lots of different colors. Minato leaned closer to watch as Nyx-kun sorted through them, humming under his breath as he seemed to judge them by some unknown criteria and then find them wanting. Kushina tried to lean closer but … yeah no. Not with Naruto so close to being due.

Eventually, he picked out a stone and rolled it in his fingers thoughtfully. He looked … unsure of himself, suddenly so very young and tired under the weight of whatever he was thinking. Then he shook it off and set the stone aside, sweeping the others into his bag. He had chosen one it seemed, an oblong one that was a beautiful orangey color with dark blue stripes running through it. She had no idea what set it apart from the others, but he seemed satisfied with his choice. He looked up at them with a smile, “I’ve done this enough times I can just do it with my hand, but when I was first figuring this out, I used to take a little piece of paper like this…” he tore a corner off the scroll he’d used to take notes, and inked out the seal.

The seal he made was tiny and Kushina’s fingers ached in sympathy for the practice it must have taken to make a perfect seal at that small a size. Nyx-kun’s eyes flickered red for a moment, checking his own work before he showed it to Kushina and Minato. Kushina spotted the difference in the seal, but Minato beat her to asking about it, “The outer ring is new. … Melt?”

“Absorption,” Nyx-kun corrected absently. He then wrapped the bead carefully in the paper, making sure not to smudge the new ink with his finger’s, and held it out to them, “Hold your hands over mine and push some chakra into the seal. Don’t worry about overloading it, I’ll control the flow.” Kushina and Minato shared a look, then held out their hands and obediently sent the seal some of their chakra. She could feel Nyx-kun’s wrapping around theirs, cool and sharp like thunderstorms and lightning, controlling the flow into the seal until it-.

Lit on fire. A soft puff of flame that Nyx-kun didn’t so much as flinch from even though it was in his bare hand. The paper burned away, but the ink of the seal … stayed. Wrapped around the bead and then sank into it like the bead was liquid rather than stone-. Kushina breathed, “That’s brilliant, dattebane. You used ‘absorption’ to mean ‘absorb into the stone’.”

Nyx-kun grinned at them as the ink settled into place inside the stone, “Yeah. That way it can’t get scratched off. The only way to disrupt it is to break the bead itself.” He juggled it a bit until it stopped glowing faintly from heat and chakra. He rolled it in his fingers a few times with a strangely sad look on his face, then he held it out to Kushina, “Here. It’s yours.”

Kushina blinked, “Eh-, are you sure?”

The young Uchiha nodded, his gaze solemn and … fragile. Like he was afraid she’d get mad, “You both donated chakra for it, it’s keyed to you now. If someone pushes chakra into it,” his hand glowed and it felt like someone was yanking on Kushina’s hair, drying to drag her attention to the bead even though she was already staring at it, “you’ll both feel it.” He hesitantly reached out, pulling Kushina’s hand toward him with the palm up. He dropped the bead into her palm and curled her fingers around it with a smile, “A gift. For- for the child.”

Kushina hesitated. Because seals weren’t just something you gave away, especially not one that you had personally created. But there was something fervent in his eyes, that familiar faith and Will of Fire Minato inspired in a lot of his ninja, as well as something almost desperate, worried.

As she accepted the bead with a laugh and a thanks, she wondered if Nyx-kun had lost his mother to childbirth, if her own pregnancy was making him nervous with memory and this was how he assuaged it. She didn’t ask, just grinned and rolled the little bead in her fingers, “I’m sure little Naru will love it, when he’s old enough I’ll braid it into his hair just like yours. Would you like that, Naruto?” She asked the question at her swollen belly, more as a joke than anything, but the midwife had said talking to the baby was good for him, so she made a point to do it semi-regularly —only semi since Minato talked to Naruto incessantly when they were home alone and she was pretty sure the sheer amount of her husband’s words had any health benefits more than covered—. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nyx-kun suppress a flinch and glance away, heard him take a careful breath she knew by experience was from having to suppress a sharp and grieving memory.

“Are you alright?” Minato asked him, because he cared about all the village, but he and Kushina knew very well how deeply Uchiha’s emotions effected them, how powerful their reactions could be.

Nyx-kun took another breath and shook himself, then smiled, “I’m fine. Just- memories.” He cleared his throat a little, suddenly awkward all over again and stood up, “I’m sorry Yondaime, Kushina-san, but I should-. I need to go home now, it’s- it’s late.”

Kushina and Minato exchanged glances. Having raised a genin team and worked with a lot of younger ninja, they knew the sound of a teenager trying frantically to leave a situation before he made a fool of himself with his emotions. Better to let him go and track him down later for that apprenticeship idea of hers rather than pushing him here, “Of course, I understand,” Minato murmured smoothly, “let me walk you to the door.”

“Thanks.”

Kushina waved as they left, “Come again soon, dattebane! I’m sure Naruto would love to meet you in another week or two!” Nyx-kun’s step hitched on nothing, but he smiled over his shoulder and agreed with her invitation like nothing was wrong. She listened to Minato saying his goodbyes to Nyx-kun in the door, and rolled the bead over in her fingers thoughtfully. When Minato came back, they talked for a while, first about Nyx-kun, then about their son who was about to be born.

~~~

In the quiet of the village at night, no one noticed the Uchiha who fled with feet like wings to a secluded training ground. No one saw as he crumbled in the nook of a high tree branch, knees pulled to his chest and shoulders shaking.

No one saw tears drip from sharingan eyes over the little orange and blue bead he knew Naruto’s parents wouldn’t live long enough to give to him.

...

(Okay so this is where my muses got weird. I started this to play with what I thought Nyx’s sealing ability/style would be when he grows up, but I’d JUST watched Lost Tower and so my brain went “Hey you know what would be cool? If teenage Nyx met another Seals master and that’s the lens we saw Nyx’s seals through!”

And I went “but we hate Jiraiya and so does Nyx”

And the muses went “TEmpORaRy TImE-TrAVeL AnGsT shOt” and here we are now, so behold the snip of the time travel/exploratory ... THING that I am in no way saying is canon for this verse (I’m also not saying it ISN’T canon because we all know I love my angst).)

#Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #Calling for Rain verse #nyxsuke #minato #naruto #kushina #long post

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ambidextrousarcher · 4 years

Text

Sarcastic StarBharat Reviews-Episode 22: In which horny deer rishis set off a chain of events.

Hello everyone! I’m back after a VERY long hiatus, had some real life issues to deal with, along with the aggravation of changing an url and some online drama too. And I’m right in time for Diwali, too, yay! Happy Diwali, people! Also Happy Children’s day!

Tagging my usual taglist: @ambitiousandcunning @medhasree @shaonharryandpannisim @hermioneaubreymiachase @hindumyththoughts @chaanv @ratnas-musings @whydoyoucareaboutmyusername @justahappyreindeer @milesbianmorales @allegoriesinmediasres @pratigyakrishnaki @iamnotthat @adishaktis @ratnas-musings. Enjoy your day, everyone!

Review is under the cut.

PS: Nila updates- The Sarcastic StarBharat review of episode 18 is missing from my blog for some reason, I’ll reupload it. Also, for anyone who’s listening to my song covers, the next items are Karam Ki Talwar from Arjun the Warrior Prince, Moh Moh Ke Dhage from Dum Laga Ke Haisha and Jo Beji Thi Dua, from Shangai.

Okay. Rehash is in order, along with some new nicknames. Till the last episode, Madri has reached Hastinapur, the precap of the last episode makes it clear that this is the episode with horny deer rishis.

I had made a numbering mistake in counting the number of canon fails, my bad, so, as of now, we’re at canon fail #49.

Here’s the nickname rehash and additions to be made-

1. Bhishm-Mr. Paragon of Perfection

2. Dhritrashtra- Mr. Drama Queen (Honorary mention-DisasterRashtra, courtesy of @iamnotthat)

3. Pandu-Honey Boy/Lord of Cheesy Lines

4. Gandhari-Ms. Always Patnidharma

5. Shakuni-Mr. Ominous Music/Mr. Annoying Poseur

6. Karn-Mr. Glitterwash

7. Kunti-Ms. Melodrama/Lady of Cheesy Lines

8. Amba (deceased)-Psycho Princess

9. Satyavati-Psycho Mum

10. Vichitraveerya (deceased)-Drunk Kid

Here are the new additions:

11. Vidur (finally)- Picking the line where he likens himself to a thorn during Pandu’s coronation, he’s Mr. Weepy Thorn.

12. Madri-Ms. Smarmy Tears

13. Krishn-(Parody version, anyway, also, FINALLY) Mr. Excess Gyaandaan.

Now, let’s get to business.

Alright, so, last episode, Gandhari was told that Drama Queen wants her in his chambers. Being the aadarsh, Ms. Always Patnidharma that she is, she goes immediately, and that’s where today’s episode of choice begins.

She stumbles in and stutters out her usual ‘Husband?’ (International viewers, please note, Hotstar has rolled out the English subtitles for your most unfavorite show. It translates ‘Arya’ as Lord, but I’m keeping the ‘husband’ variation, because no.)

Anyway. He shushes her. ‘Don’t say anything, Gandhari, just listen. The mind is so weird, isn’t it?’ Okay…why this sudden volte face? Ah, he’s trying to apologise, I guess? He says that he was absorbed in his negative emotions of hurt, grief and jealousy, but when no news of Honey Boy came from the battlefield, he realized that he still worries and cares for his little brother, and that he was merely unfortunate, not conspired against, concluding that he was unjust to Honey Boy. O…kay? Should I count this as a canon fail? Canon Dhritrashtra can be two-faced, so eh, leave it.

Ms. Patnidharma is shaking her head next to him, because of course, she’s that much of a doormat. ‘I was unfair to you too. I had rejected you, Gandhari, but if I realise my mistake, will you accept me?’ Ah. I see what this is. Anvil-shadowing. Just before Pandu ‘loses’ his ability to ‘be a husband’ Drama Queen and Patnidharma make up with each other. Newsflash, writers: Nothing is this clean cut.

Of course, that was precisely the opening Ms. Patnidharma was waiting for, so she feels her husband up as they hug. Drama Queen’s heart, apparently, very anomalously, is overflowing with happiness, now that he has unloaded his weakness onto Patnidharma, or so he says. Don’t believe him, though, don’t be the naïve idiot Patnidharma is, because that weakness of his wreaks bloody wrecking ball havoc in the future.

‘So what if I don’t become the King?’ Excuse me. I just choked on my water. What’s up with this volte-face? Just what? ‘I have more respect here than the King himself!’ I think I’m gonna count this as canon fail #50 because nah, he ain’t gonna say this in any adaptation that’s sane. And of course, since he’s randy too, it seems, he goes ‘When you give me a son, he’ll be the eldest son and King after Pandu. I’ll also get the pleasure of being a King. Will you give me the gift of such a talented son?’ Ah. So that’s what the volte-face is for. Canon fail #50 cancelled. Drama Queen would say anything at all to get his way, that’s right. Patnidharma, predictably, goes all gushy. ‘Yes, husband, for your sake, I’ll go to the portals of Yamlok themselves!’ Ah, sheesh, sometimes, watching this show makes me think that I should projectile-yeet myself to Yamlok.

He laughs. ‘When the time comes,’ he says, ‘we’ll go to the portals of death together, Gandhari.’ Well, that, at least, is true. He continues that they still have many happy moments to experience. She nods, melting into his embrace.

Scene changes to a green vista, the whickering of horses heard. Madri, henceforth known as Ms. Smarmy Tears, is laughing, Ms. Melodrama being stony faced and stoic. (That’s a change, though the music manages to make even THAT dramatic) The camera focuses on a deer, and Smarmy asks Honey Boy to stop, because it’s a beautiful deer. Okay…I know what’s coming up next. Anvil-shadowing, anyone? I realise it was very long ago when we were introduced to Ms. Melodrama, but I’ll give you a short rehash. She was introduced saving a deer from hunters. Anyone got the hint? It’s an obvious ‘Madri is an evil witch!’ gambit. Please do not take it. I know that in canon, Kunti and Madri probably had a fractious relationship given the whole fracas over the boon, but I refuse to believe Madri would be this transparently biatch-y.

And…bingo! Smarmy says that the deer is absolutely unique, and follows it up with a request for its skin. Melodrama, of course, is having none of it. She passionately launches into defence of the deer’s children who’d be orphaned, basically echoing her very first piece of dialogue on this show. Do you think there’s a chance that they dubbed it in? I mean…I wouldn’t be able to say that twice with a straight face. But, whatever gives, I guess. Fawn get orphaned often, goes Smarmy. It’s not like I’m asking you for the position of the Queen, can’t you do this much for me? Since StarB has a thing of making women either bitches or doormat ditches, its Honey Boy who cuts in. ‘Speak of good things alone.’ Did this guy get a theology class between the ‘war’ and this moment? ‘I’ll get the deer for you, the rest of you please stay here.’ And then the show takes yet another opportunity to set Melodrama as good and Smarmy as bad, as Melodrama tries to give Smarmy a moral lesson about abstaining from killing for no reason, and Smarmy going all casteist (not sure if that’s the right word, since afaik Kunti’s maternal family are also Kshatriyas? Yadava is not one family. It’s an entire dynasty.) And here’s canon fail #50 and #51. #50 is the fact that Pandu, in canon, hunts the deer because he wants to. Madri has nothing to do with it in the text. #51 because the jibe about Yadavs being shepherds that Madri makes smacks of a misconception about politics in the MBH. The idea of ‘Yadavas’ being shepherds is present because of the lore of Krishn and Balaram in Gokul. While I’m sure there might be some branches of the family that may dabble in those pursuits, typically, considering the social structure of that time, Kunti’s family is of quite royal pedigree.

The scene switches to Honey Boy looking for deer, listening attentively to the rustling leaves. Really, this question goes for canon too, haven’t these guys learnt a thing at all from the whole Dashrath/Sravan Kumar fracas? That it is TOTALLY not a good idea to just randomly shoot in a random forest, anyone? At least sight the prey a little, no?

Regardless, he shoots an arrow, the tell-tale thunk is heard, followed by a human scream (the typically serial-ish ‘nahi, nahi!’ aka ‘no, no!’). Alarmed, he sets off in pursuit of the sound. The camera focuses on a bloody arrow then showing us a rishi and a rishin. ‘Maharishi Kidam?’ exclaims Pandu. ‘It was you?’ ‘What have you done? You shot an arrow without recognizing me! I was dallying (read: deer hanky-panky-ing) with my wife in the form of a deer, and you shot an arrow without considering that the grace and the form of the deer could only mean it is such?’ Okay, for all that I want to call this canon fail #52, I’ll be honest…because such a scene, at least one of Pandu killing Kidama when he’s in sexual congress with his wife in the form of a deer does happen. Sometimes, *sigh* canon itself is quite strange.

But…in the whole of this thing, I have an observation to make, a few questions to ask, in the context of this serial:

1. Madri saw only one deer? What was the deer rishi doing, a deer mating ritual of some sort? Where was the wife then?

2. Does what he said mean that there might be…other rishis doing deer hanky panky?

3. Kidama was a rishi, right? He’d have figured out Pandu wants the ‘deer’ when he saw them and vanished? He could have, IDK, sprinted off real quick, or turned back into human, or just vanished once more. Why escalate it this much?

Honey Boy is very contrite and begs for forgiveness. Canon fail #53. In canon, he basically goes, well, Kings hunt deer, why cry about it? (That is, the dialogue given to Madri to establish her as ‘bad’) The deer rishi brings up the Dashrath point I gave above and says that Honey Boy’s crime can’t be pardoned, that he shouldn’t have killed a man in congress with his wife, so he curses him that he’ll die the moment he’ll have congress with any woman. Canon fail #54. The original curse specifies ‘his loved one’ not any random woman.

Cue dramatic panoramic shot and dramatic title bgm. Honey Boy is in tears. The rishi dies.

Scene changes and we’re back in Hastina, where the court fool is entering. He says he has a lot of questions. Mr. Weepy Thorn prompts him to ask his questions. So there’s this long drawn out riddle session that’s set up to predict that Gandhari is pregnant, and Drama Queen will be experiencing the love of a son soon. There’s happiness all round, lots of hugs too. Of course, this show takes no rest from anvil shadowing either, so exactly at this moment enters Honey Boy with his wives. Honey Boy is welcomed with joy and immediately apprised of the news. In his head, the dying deer rishi’s words echo, even as his wives smile by his side. (Ah, apparently, there’s anvil juxtaposition, too! Whee!)

Anyway. Satyavati notices he ain’t looking happy and she asks him if he got what she said. He manages to sponge her off, hug his brother and congratulate him. When he does that, Annoying Poseur closes his eye.

As he ascends the throne, deer rishi’s words come back to him, asking what kind of a King he is. Honey Boy refrains from climbing the final stair, turning. He says that he has something of great importance to announce, confessing that he has killed Kidama and is no longer worthy of being a King.

His announcement is met with shock all around, as he renounces the throne of Hastina. Cue dramatic title bgm again. Camera focuses on Satyavati (who’s quite less psycho nowadays), then panning one by one to Drama Queen, Paragon of Perfection, Smarmy, Melodrama, Patnidharma, Ambika, Ambalika, a grinning Poseur (both eyes open), back to Honey boy and Mr. Paragon as he drops his angvastr limply.

Scene changes as Mr. Perfection walks inside Honey Boy’s chambers and they have an argument about his responsibilities. Honey Boy puts forward that for all that Satyavati wants a worthy King, he is no longer worthy, that even Indra renounced heaven for the killing of a sage and meditated for eons, that mere charity and abstinence as suggested by Mr. Thorn and Kripacharya won’t be enough. He continues that the duty of a King, the man who holds the royal scepter is to dispense justice to his people. He asks who would mete justice out on a King? The camera pans out to Mr. Perfection, standing mute, ending the episode.

Alright, this whole thing is canon fail #55. Pandu does not go back to Hastina, he sets out immediately to atone. Also #56, his wives know everything as he does. He doesn’t keep it hidden from them.

Precap: ‘But the crime was ours’ says Smarmy. ‘the punishment, however, has to be borne by our yet unborn children!’ ‘You can’t ever have children.’ Announces Honey Boy, going on to inform them of the curse.

#sarcastic starbharat reviews #scribbler scribbles #nila writes #nila rants #nila gets salty #pandu #aka honey boy #kunti #aka ms melodrama #dhritrashtra #aka drama queen #gandhari #aka ms always patnidharma #madri #aka ms. smarmy tears #bhishm #aka paragon of perfection #diwali update

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doc-pickles · 4 years

Text

wonderstruck

Fun Fact: I had SUCH a hard time picking from Speak Now because I love love love this album. I nearly went with Last Kiss but I ended up switching my playlist around at the last minute. This is also my favorite Taylor song behind YBWM.

Anyways this fic was inspired by a gifset I saw that showed Jolex at the four weddings they’ve attended on the show. I decided to create a fifth wedding for them to attend and reminisce of their past wedding dates. This fic is not the best, I had to write seven fics for this week though so one of them was bound to be bad sorry not sorry. And MAJOR shout out to the group chat for proof reading this while I died today. Y’all are the best, especially Ren who deserves a co writing credit here for making this readable for you guys. Without further ado, here’s a fluffy, wholesome, canon ignoring fic. Enjoy!

This night is flawless, don't you let it go

I'm wonder struck, dancing around all alone

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you

“Weddings are so weird,” Jo muses as she sips her champagne. “I mean have you ever really thought about the concept of modern weddings? The white dress, the bridesmaids, the whole big to-do. It’s odd.”

Alex glances at Jo, his eyes catching the light reflecting off the set of silver rings adorning her left hand. Even three years after the fact, he still can’t get over the fact that the woman sitting next to him agreed to be his wife, had given in to his insistence for a big to-do and eventually married him on a damn ferry boat and again dressed as a zombie bride. He really couldn’t ask for a better woman.

“Well we had a big thing. And I’ve heard zero complaints from you about the other big weddings we’ve been to, including this one,” Alex shrugs, taking a long pull from his beer as Jo laughs at his statement. Rolling his eyes, Alex elaborates “What? It’s true! Though I guess something extra chaotic or unexpected does end up happening… We have a bit of a crazy track record when it comes to weddings.”

“Well we went on a semi blind date to one that was delayed because of a surgery,” Jo recalls as her eyes moved to find Ben and Bailey swaying on the dance floor. “I think that was the most fun I’ve ever had at a wedding, you know the whole stealing a hotel room thing. And you’re fake crying was absolutely hysterical.”

“You’re to blame for that mess,” Alex nudges Jo’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she leans back into his embrace. Enjoying the reminiscing, Alex adds, “Then we went to Kepner’s wedding and that was… interesting. Can’t say I’ve ever been to a wedding where the bride literally ran out the damn door. But her and Avery seem to be happy enough now, took them long enough. And I proposed to you and you didn’t realize it.”

“You literally did not say the words ‘marry me’ or ‘be my wife’ or anything close to that in your super romantic speech,” Jo chuckles, eyes moving from the Warrens to April and Jackson, who were chasing Harriet around the reception. “You didn’t even give me a ring, Alex! How was I supposed to know!”

“That was a weird night. Not as weird as Webber’s wedding though,” Alex mused as Jo let out a chuckle, both thinking back to the slightly chaotic day. “That was a whole day of weirdness and the fact that it ended with a wedding in the hospital was probably the most normal thing to happen.”

Alex thinks back to the aforementioned wedding and Jo bringing him to what would end up being their loft late into the night. In truth, at the time he had zero hope for the crappy space. Hell, he barely had any hope for him and Jo surviving long enough to even try to make it feel like home, but they had made it. Looking at his wife with a smirk, Alex brings up another memory.

“And then there was our wedding. Well our first one anyways,” Alex chuckles as Jo hides her face in his chest, muffling her embarrassed giggles. “Remember when you dragged me off to have sex in a shed and then made us miss our ceremony?”

“You were the one who dragged us off to have sex,” Jo exclaims loudly, earning stares from the next table over. “Don’t try and pin that on me! And besides, we did eventually get legally married. And that was way more fun than the uptight big shindig. I convinced you to recite your vows wearing vampire teeth. That counts as a win in my book.”

Alex pulls Jo up and out of her chair then, gently dragging her towards the dance floor. He twirls her once, watching her shapeless dark blue dress float around her before her before pulling her close to him as another slow song started. The dress silhouette was not very “Jo”. Assuming the selection was out of her control, Alex knew better than to bring it up when he first saw her this morning. After a long day of chaste interactions, he now finds the loose drape of the fabric frustratingly teasing. His wife’s typical wardrobe, with dresses that cling and highlight her gorgeous figure, is something he never tires of admiring. He lets his hands stroke along her back as he leans in to whisper to her.

“Mmm and now we’re here. You know, you make a pretty good Best Woman,” Jo lets out a laugh, forehead resting against Alex’s. “Although, this wedding has gone surprisingly well which is unusual for Grey Sloan ceremonies.”

“Oh please, Link tried to run off this morning and I had to talk him off a ledge.”

“And that, Mrs. Karev, is what makes you such a good Best Woman,” Alex presses a kiss to Jo’s forehead as he lets a small laugh escape.

Jo scoffs, eyes flitting up to meet Alex’s with a mischievous glint. “I can make things more interesting though.”

“Oh really? And how’re you gonna do that?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Oh ha ha, very funny. You know you’re only allowed to make that joke at one wedding,” Alex pulls back from Jo then, eyes scanning over her face and the shit eating grin she’s wearing. “You are kidding, right? Jo are you really pregnant?”

“I haven’t been drinking champagne all day, it’s just ginger ale.”

Alex’s eyes widen momentarily, scanning Jo quickly before pulling her in for a kiss. She begins to laugh as Alex continues to pepper kisses on her cheeks.

“Holy shit, we’re really having a baby?,” Alex asks as Jo nods her head, bringing Alex’s hand to feel the barely there curve of her stomach. “How’d you hide that from me?”

“Yes! How many times do I have to tell you,” Jo giggled as Alex pulled her close, his hand still resting comfortably against the swell of her stomach. “It just kinda… popped up. And we’ve been working opposite schedules, you haven’t really had many chances to see me naked lately… You’re okay with this right? It’s a bit of a happy accident but it’s okay isn’t it?”

Alex stares down at Jo with a grin. Leave it to her to be worried about having a baby, if he’d picked either of them freaking over this it would’ve been him.

“I’ve never been happier in my freaking life Jo.”

#tsjolexweek #jolex #alex karev #jo wilson #jo karev #greys anatomy #jo x alex #jolex fic #grey’s anatomy fanfic #jolex fanfic #nina writes #Spotify

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your-brilliant-lady-m · 4 years

Text

South Korean music industry at a glance: an outsider perspective

I watched one particular AMV last week. The song used for the video was “I’m afraid” by Korean rock band DAY6. I was pleasantly surprised as someone who values lyrics in song first and foremost. The music itself was great. I’ll listen to their songs again. It’s a nice fit for my music taste. Naturally, YouTube’s algorithm decided that I’m a fan of everything Korean after 1 video and started spamming my recommendations with k-pop songs, documentaries and everything in-between.

I watched a couple of videos, listened to some songs and discovered fascinating patterns. So, I went down to the comment section. And it was rather interesting experience, should I say? The concept of entertainment industry in South Korea simply begged to be explored more after this. I dug deeper and visited Tumblr k-pop tags and briefly glanced upon Instagram and Twitter. And, oh...

I am a big picture person and I enjoy both studying and creating systems. This one was particularly fun to explore. I discovered a lot of new things for myself. Perhaps, you can discover something new for yourself too or take a step back and look at this from a new angle.

Disclaimer: it’s impossible not to offend someone on Tumblr, so keep that in mind. That being said, I do NOT intend to insult of offend anyone. It’s just a little research done for fun, because I love research with a purpose. This post is NOT A HATE post. No hate intended for fans, artists or other people involved. It’s meant to be a discussion, nothing more and nothing less. If it sounds like hate, it’s just my sarcastic sense of humour.

Content Warning: I mention suicide, death, depression, rape in a couple of sentences. There’s nothing major or graphic, but it’s there.

In this long post I decided to share with you my opinion, a so-called outsider perspective, on the world of music entertainment industry in South Korea and people involved in it on different levels. I use the word “outsider” mainly because, that’s exactly what I am in this case, as someone who is in no way involved in k-pop community. I can’t name you a single band or their members. I don’t know any solo artist and can’t neither sing nor name you any song.

And to be completely honest, I don’t think I will set my foot into k-pop fan-circles ever again after everything I saw.

Think of this as “In this essay I will...” meme, except there’s an actual essay.

As far as I know, in South Korea “k-pop” refers to all music produced in SK, including solo artists, various bands, singers-songwriters. It doesn’t even have to be pop music. Koreans include in this definition all genres of music. However, around the world “k-pop” means primarily music made by idol groups and bands marketed for children, teenagers and younger people. In this post I use the latter definition, because that’s how most people understand “k-pop” in other countries. Therefore, my statements, opinions and conclusions here would concern only idol music.

The music industry in South Korea is heavily influenced by culture and traditions of the country, just like all things are. And there’s nothing wrong with that. After all, different backgrounds are what makes people so interesting and unique. However, when combined with consumer mindset, desire to generate profit at any cost and fast-paced nature of modern life these neutral cultural elements could produce something concerning, and it can lead to disastrous consequences.

1. Idol

These people are called artists, musicians, singers, bands, groups, performers. In South Korea and in Japan, however, people call them Idols or Stars. I’ve also seen Muses, Princes and Queens. Interesting, isn’t it? The terminology used to describe these musicians in South Korea is one of the key elements in this whole entertainment system. You’ll see why.

But who or what is an idol exactly? Let’s take a basic definition from Wikipedia.

“In the practice of religion, a cult image or devotional image is a human-made object that is venerated or worshipped for the deity, person, spirit or daemon ... that it embodies or represents. In several traditions, including the ancient religions of Egypt, Greece and Rome, and modern Hinduism, cult images in a temple may undergo a daily routine of being washed, dressed, and having food left for them. Processions outside the temple on special feast days are often a feature. Religious images cover a wider range of all types of images made with a religious purpose, subject, or connection. In many contexts "cult image" specifically means the most important image in a temple, kept in an inner space, as opposed to what may be many other images decorating the temple.

The term idol is often synonymous with worship cult image. In cultures where idolatry is not viewed negatively, the word idol is not generally seen as pejorative, such as in Indian English.”

Cambridge Dictionary defines idol as follows:

And here’s the definition from Oxford Dictionary:

This is a centrepiece of this tapestry. Surely, you have noticed by now what these definitions have in common.

Idol = a cult image of a god, a deity

By calling these musicians “idols” industry makes society and audience treat them in certain way, namely as gods. What characteristics do gods possess? They are beautiful, talented, funny, confident and graceful, blessed by eternal youth of immortality. Gods have no flaws, they do not bleed, they are above human concerns. They are an embodiment of perfection. They are stars, you could not reach.

But real people are not like that. They can be sad and angry, insecure. People don’t have perfectly symmetrical faces. They can’t dance in sync without preparation. They can’t sing like angels at any given moment throughout the day.

What happens when idols accidentally reveal their humanity? What happens when people see, that they make mistakes and do stupid things, that they need to train hard to appear graceful on stage?

I will tell you. And it’s not pretty. But, first, let’s look at other elements of this system.

2. Y/N and Self-insert fantasy

Aside from the music, K-pop sells the self-insert fantasy to the audience. It’s carefully arranged to appear real, where the cracks are masked and every word is scripted. The reality is so vivid that one doesn’t even have to use imagination all that much, because all scenarios and decorations already exist. Countless interviews for TV and magazines, fan meetings, talk shows, reality shows made sure people are privy to all juicy details of personal lives and opinions of musicians. And also one word - merchandise. Some of that merch made me question my life choices. Some of it is, ah, creepy or has weird vibes. All of this provides plenty of material for people to work with. Fans can effortlessly imagine themselves beside their idols or even in their place.

In a highly competitive society, where people throw themselves into studying and work since young age, forming deep and lasting connections with others is very hard, sometimes impossible. As a result, people long to have a group of close friends with similar interests, a loving partner who would cherish them endlessly. People want to be rewarded for their backbreaking efforts to succeed by the carefree life of fame and music, everlasting friendships and love. And in a way you can’t really blame them for his.

Does this dream life sound familiar? We are looking at K-pop bands here. It doesn’t really matter if their members don’t always get along or that they can live in debt, that fame is fickle and adoring fans can tear your self-confidence to shreds. Audience wants the glamour of fantasy and the industry is more than happy to cater to these desires.

Perhaps, knowing that even for idols this fantasy is sometimes unattainable makes the whole set up feel just a little cruel.

3. Fans, stans and fandom culture

We’ve already established earlier that idols are gods in the eyes of people and listed traits they must possess. So, what else do gods need to exist? Worshippers. Because a cult is worth nothing without its followers. Gods need a group of people to worship them and spread their beliefs. The role of worshippers is performed by a fans in this case.

Apparently, there is a running joke that girl groups need to win a general public popularity and boy bands need a big passionate fandom. It seems to be true according to my observations.

In k-pop fandom people use the word “stan” to state that they like or support particular group. Now, I am sure everyone here knows that in other fandoms, dedicated to movies, shows, books and games there’s an important distinction between being a “fan” and a “stan”. What is it?

A fan is someone who likes a ship or character, creates and/or consumes fandom content, supports certain ideas, discusses things they enjoyed and disliked, criticises canon. Stans, however, are a different breed. They engage in all typical fandom activities, but their support and enjoyment becomes obsession. Stans believe their favourite characters and ships are immune to criticism, that they are superior no matter what others say. Stans start shipping wars, send anon hate, death threats over fictional characters and hurt real people. Stans are considered toxic fans. And majority of normal civilised people don’t like them and try their best to let stans hang out in their echo chamber by themselves.

In other fandoms and communities, to be a fan means to love, support and enjoy something, while to stan means to obsess over and hyperfixate on these same things. Words “I stan” rarely mean “I support” for most people, and if they do mean that, it’s only used in a joking manner (”We stan procrastination legend!”, “I stan our miscommunication kings”).

Everywhere else “stan” has only negative connotations, except in k-pop. But what has changed? What’s the difference? Why do international fans scoff at “shipper stans” and then turn around calling themselves “stans of X k-pop group” at the same time? Does it make you wonder?

And this is another core theme of k-pop, in my opinion. In fandom where stan = obsession = support, you can see interesting patterns.

Fandom loves their flawless gods. But watching them from afar is not enough for some people, because unlike deities in different religions, these gods live among us. People are very much aware of that. Industry has created a cult and laid the groundwork for worshippers to express their adoration in every way including personal contact. And who wouldn’t want to meet their god? Who wouldn’t want to know more about them or tell them how much you love them? In talk shows and fan meetings there is only so much one can do after all.

People desire to know more, to have more so much that their obsession transforms into concerning stalker tendencies. These crazy individuals follow idols, stalk them on social media, in hotels, research flight numbers, bribe security. Musicians were attacked and poisoned. I strongly suspect there were cases of rape that no one knows about. There is even a special term for these fans - “sasaeng”.

Is there a definition for stalkers of actors or musicians in western world? No, I’m pretty sure there isn’t. They are just called “invasive/obsessive fans” or “stalkers”.

Also, there are sasaeng memes. Yeah, you heard that right. I enjoy some classy dark humour as much as the next person, but there is a fine line between normal and questionable.

Back to the topic of stalkers. Do you realise how disturbing that is? Such behaviour is so common that there is a term for it. You create a fandom-cult, encourage people to worship k-pop idols as gods and then act surprised when members of said cult become fanatics and their adoration becomes obsession.

And it’s so easy to step on this slippery road. The system makes it ridiculously easy. Lines begin to blur. How much is too much? Where do you draw the line?

While sasaeng fans engage in extreme real-life obsession, people online aren’t that far off, to be honest. I’ve seen it all: imagines, headcanons, fanfiction, real-person shipping, reactions. Real person shipping is a controversial topic. Some people support it, others don’t. I suppose I’m among those who don’t get it. I’m not exactly against it, but I find it strange. Mainly because it’s based on assumptions made by fans about personalities and behaviour of real people.

Assumptions. Dear me! K-pop fandom has this thing with video compilations. I’ve never seen this phenomenon being so widespread in any other community or fandom. Basically people edit together a collection of short clips from talk-shows, interviews, Instagram stories, some YouTube videos, etc and then proceed to analyse every gesture, word, facial expression of idols and provide both audio and on-screen commentary. These videos and many other forms of similar analysis allow people to imagine what kind of personalities idols have, what kind of life do they live. It’s the source material for fanfiction, imagines and headcanons.

But it’s not real. It’ll never be real. It’s an illusion, an image, a stage persona. They fall in love with a face and made up personality. And I think that when people create this content they can forget this. Fans can develop certain emotional dependence and unhealthy attitudes in the long run. In some YouTube comments even supportive and encouraging words sound whiny and obsessive. And semantics of being a “stan” of certain group or individual doesn’t help.

4. Industry, companies and liars

At last we arrive at the most important aspect of music entertainment industry - its creators.

Have you seen “The Road to El Dorado”? It’s one of my all time favourites. It has iconic characters, adult jokes that I didn’t get as a child and iconic soundtrack. I’ll quote “It’s Tough To Be A God” a lot here.

In South Korea music industry is a factory, the production line to be exact. This kind of set up affects everything in the grand scheme of things. Companies and agencies play the role of training centres and record labels. And there are so many of them that a whole new scamming system developed based around fake idol agencies. It implies that there are people who fall for offers of these agencies and continue to do so. I suspect that victims must pay a fortune upfront before they realise their mistake. Are there any kind of legal protection against such scams? How can people verify the authenticity? Because a well masked scam can exist for a long time before someone discovers it and calls them out on their nonsense.

As far as I understand legal companies work like this. After high school, which is often focused on performing arts (and private schools can get away with using talents of students for personal gain, which is totally not surprising), young people can audition for an agency and become an idol in training or idol-trainee. And passing audition is hard. But good recommendations can help, connections too.

During training you don’t get paid. Only a few companies pay aspiring musicians. People can spend years in training and don’t debut. But rent, necessities, clothing and food (not that you need much of it, but more on that later) cost a lot. Where do you get the money to live then? Support from parents, one or two part time jobs at most and bank loans. Surprise! We found an unexpected (just kidding, it’s very obvious) party, who reaps benefits from the system.

You need skill to be an idol. Natural talent helps too. The more skills you have, the cheaper and faster your training is. To level up your game you attend classes every month offered by your agency, which are not cheap (dance classes range from 400$ to 1000$ per month, sometimes more). There are four main categories in evaluation process: vocals, rapping, dancing and visuals. Idols are multitaskers, to have a chance on stage one must be perfect at everything. And people are ready to invest thousands of dollars into their kids training so that they could have a chance in entertainment industry. South Korea thrives on revenue k-pop industry generates every day.

Let’s pause here for a second and think about what kind of people come to these agencies. The answer is easy. People who have a dream, a desire, a real goal. You don’t wake up one day and decide to become a k-pop idol. Sometimes people get invited by agencies (after prior acting, modelling career or any other form of exposure). These people are usually very young. Some start straight after high school, some after university, but 25 years old is considered a late start. Compare that to western musicians who start singing at any age and still become famous.

But why this age limit? Because idols are eternally young. So that in public eye musicians are remembered as 20 year old gods. People would listen to their music and imagine a young attractive face. Career in k-pop is short, it lasts 5-7 years, rarely longer than that. It’s even less than modelling or acting can offer. And professional sportsmen retire in their late 30′s. Some play longer, but usually, that’s it.

If you live in Los Angeles and say that you want to be an actor or performer, no one would bat an eye. It’s like saying that you want to be an engineer or accountant. Similarly, in South Korea becoming an k-pop musician is a real career. Because part of the self insert fantasy that the industry sells is the idea that anyone can be an idol. It’s easy after all. Anyone can pass auditions and become a trainee. A trainee with no guarantee of debut. But one should never underestimate the power of idol-dream. After all, idea is the most resilient parasite.

“My friends started training in kindergarten. They have wanted to become idols since young”

“A lot of young kids get interested in Korean music”

A 6-year old child sees the performance of k-pop group for the first time on TV. Let’s say it’s a girl. She is enraptured and decides that she will be like that too someday. She grows up, while being part of the fandom, just like all idols are in one way or another and whose fan-obsession transforms into desire to succeed. Her parents spend time and money to find her tutors, to fund dancing and singing classes. Perhaps in high school this girl decides to fix the shape of her eyes and make nose straighter. She trains hard and passes the auditions in her dream agency. And during training this girl faces the reality of behind the scenes life in music industry.

“Why are you crying? I’m not even pushing you”

“How many times have I told you? The rest are doing it perfectly”

“She is dancing like an elementary school student“

“I watched your performance as a spectator who bought a ticket to your concert. I want a refund“

“You make my ears hurt. I don’t want to listen at all”

“Listening to you was tiring”

“I’ll kick you out instead. You won’t debut”

“I thought I was going to die. That’s how determined I was”

While I do understand that keeping a high quality standards in media industry is important, there are more productive and healthy ways to motivate someone to improve and be more passionate, you know? Constantly insulting people with sadistic glee and putting them down at every opportunity or calling them ugly to their face doesn’t do much.

Do you think that children know about this? Do they know about soulless teachers and belittling managers? Do they know about friends who are really your competition, so you shouldn’t get attached? Do they know about living in debt? Do they know any of this? No, I don’t think they do.

Children dream about the stage, about the sea of lights and crowds who chant your names. They want adoring fans and photoshoots. They want to appear on TV and magazine covers. Teenagers want the thrill of performance, they want to share their music and dancing with others.

“I don’t know how many times I cried alone”

The truth is cruel. But they won’t give up easily even if it means sleeping 4-5 hours and consuming no more than 500 calories per day. Because giving up means that your whole life was a lie. One can’t afford not to be good enough. Giving up means admitting that all efforts and money your family invested into your dream were in vain. It means losing face before your family and friends - a fate worse than death. Imagine living this idol dream and building your whole future around it and then being told that you’ll never debut because of the circumstances outside of your control or something minor, like face shape or 1 kg of weight that your body refuses to lose. It can break you. Especially if you are like 18 or something.

5. “And who am I to bridle if I'm forced to be an idol If they say that I'm a God, that's what I am”

“I don’t think there’s anything a tough as being a trainee in Korea”

Once you are a trainee at the agency your personal life does not belong to you anymore. You can’t go out without permission of the agency. You phone is taken away. Your diet and weight are monitored. Bad habits are not allowed (no smoking, drinking or drugs). Oh! I think I found the good thing in the system! Unfortunately, it won’t last. Trainees can’t date or meet with family without permission of agency. Dating is very taboo. Even established idols can’t openly date.

Why is that? Because gods can’t belong to anyone. Their lives are property of the fandom. Because openly dating idols destroy the self-insert fantasy. There was a former idol girl who dated another musician. She was called a whore by her fans, her loving and adoring stans. You might know who I am talking about. Would you call an American actor or singer a prostitute for dating someone?

Trainees sign the contract. And how can a young person straight out of school or university know much about what makes a good contract in entertainment industry or what makes a good contract in general? Even if you do understand the terms fully you would still sign it because if you have come so far, you can’t let your dream slip this easily. There isn’t a choice. Not really. If you want to debut, you will agree to anything.

What about life after debut? You have to pay off your loans. And company takes 60-70% of your group’s earnings. Artists themselves get 30-40% and split it between themselves. K-pop groups have from 5 to 10 members or more than that. Each person gets less than 6%. Idols are not filthy rich. They are not. These earnings are practically nothing compared to the work you have put into this.

Idols are musicians, who often don’t even write their own songs, music or create choreography. But if public doesn’t like the song and musical number the company created, they blame idols for the failure. Such an amazing logic we see right here. But people say that sharing music is the best part of idol life. But whose music?

Models on catwalk are not there to demonstrate their physical beauty, they are blank canvas for works of clothing designers. Same with k-pop musicians. They act like puppets in a way, whose faces and voices are used to show audience someone’s music and songs. Some groups do write their own music and lyrics and it’s nice to know that. But those, who don’t are rather unfortunate. It’s a nice tool of psychological control and pressure for an agency. They can hold it over group and use the following rhetoric: “We gave you everything! Why can’t you follow the simple instructions” or “Where would you be without us? It’s not even your music!”

I called k-pop industry a factory. That’s true. Dozens of people become trainees every year. These talented young people are fully prepared to do anything to achieve their goal. They are ready to practice until they collapse, starve themselves and pour themselves into every song. Companies know that. Tell me why would they value their idols as individuals, as people, as human beings if they always have a replacement? Why bother with mental health of their artists if next year they could have a fresh set of people, who are younger and prettier? Why try to improve relationships inside groups if you could fire any member and replace them within a month or two?

In western countries famous bands have different stories. Some were friends since high school, who played in bars and during festivals and then they were noticed by some representative of label company, who offered them a contract. Some groups were formed by like-minded people who bonded and decided to share their music with the world. There are many stories, but ultimately the have one thing in common. Bands in the West often form themselves. These people had time to bond, connect, discover each other, solve some disagreements and learn to work around their differences.

K-pop groups are formed by their agencies. They are their property in a way. Company selects the best and puts together these total strangers, appoints the leader with marketable face and personality and then expects them to work together like a well-oiled machine. No one has time to bond during training, because other people are you competition, not friends. And then you must learn to work as a team and be best friends on camera for the audience to support the self-insert fantasy. It’s no wonder that k-pop groups don’t get along sometimes. And every member knows that they are replaceable. It doesn’t help in forming connections. Groups can’t just terminate contract and go to work with another agency. I heard it happens sometimes, but it’s not a done thing. Unlike in other countries where bands just sign the deal with a different label and release their music under their name if they don’t like the old conditions.

“It's tough to be a God But if you get the people's nod Count your blessings, keep them sweet, that's our advice Be a symbol of perfection Be a legend, be a cult Take their praise, take a collection As the multitudes exalt Don a supernatural habit We'd be crazy not to grab it So sign up two new Gods for paradise”

But is it really a paradise?

Idols are expected to act cute, to match personalities created for them by fans or media. They have to act according to the concept of their group. They have to be a symbol of perfection: skinny, single and with a face perfected by surgery. They are allowed to mess up, but only in a cute way. They can break down and cry, but only if it’s “aesthetic”.

Weight issues are a separate topic. Sometimes I wonder whether managers in companies understand how weight loss or human body in general works. To be honest, I think that scales in agencies are rigged. And only managers know that. I know it can be done from personal experience. Some beach resorts tweak their scales and make them show 4-6 kg less than actual weight, so people wouldn’t get upset if they gain some. There is no way a girl as tall as I am (173 cm) could weigh like 47-50 kg and be able to perform complex choreography on stage and sing without being out of breath, visit the gym on a regular basis and generally function as a normal human without fainting every other day.

“I developed a lot of eating disorders”

“I think I consumed about 300 calories today“

“Someone, please, trim the fat off her arms”

If you grow up thinking of idols as gods and then, when you become one of them you think that you must act as one too. But being an easily replaceable god is a heavy burden. The industry, companies and audience want you to be perfect, to always be on your best behaviour. And the thought of not being good enough or divine enough terrifies you, because stans have no mercy (black ocean concept is the most stupid thing ever by the way). This kind of pressure can destroy even the most resilient. And it does.

Almost everyone knows that situation with mental health in South Korea is not the best to put it lightly. In many ways it’s a cultural thing. But in k-pop mental health issues are treated with even less care. Gods are not supposed to be depressed or suicidal. They are not supposed to have fears or insecurities, can’t be upset or angry. They try hard to be this deity, this image. So, even when they realise they need professional help or even a friend to talk to, they either won’t seek said help or reach out only to be met with silence. Some agencies disapprove or forbid therapy altogether.

Sometimes fandom becomes self-aware.

“Don’t forget that idols are people too!”

“Your favourite idols are running out of breath just to keep you entertained“

“They are humans, who have feelings!”

Oh, but here’s the thing, my friend. The industry doesn’t want you to think of them as people. Companies and media repeatedly reinforce the idea that they are not people, they are your idols. And strangely enough, the audience supports this idea. People continue to call them idols, developing worshiping tendencies in the process, imitate them, scrutinise their flaws and triumphs. Because, you know, only “real and ordinary humans” can have flaws, not “idols”.

So people who say “they are human too” and people who say “wow, this concert was amazing, but vocals in the beginning were so off-key, I simply can’t” are one and the same.

This thought process would have been funny if it wasn’t so disappointing. But that’s just my observation.

And here’s another thing about sexualisation. I said before how appearances are everything, marketable face and body could drastically improve your chances to succeed. Companies know about this too and concepts and aesthetics of groups are designed accordingly. Girls are dressed in skimpy outfits, their dances are unnecessary suggestive, they wear heavy make up and try to have “mature” vibes. Boys don’t avoid such objectification either: suits, tight pants and dress shirts along with make up and hairstyle to give audience a promise of the things to come. Grown adults are not supposed to lust after 15-17 year olds. You can’t just create a sexy stage persona for teenagers. Do you remember my earlier words about creepy merch? Yeah. All of it neatly plays into the self-insert fantasy and encourages obsessive behaviour.

This happens in western countries too. In some way that’s understandable. Beautiful and sexy image with a hint of innocence attracts more people and sells, because it caters to one of the base human instincts. But some things make your skin crawl.

Sponsorships are another topic. Some k-pop bands seek out sponsors to provide financial aid and cover expenses, when earnings are not enough. Sometimes these sponsorships are fine, perfectly civil. But sometimes it’s a prostitution. Girl groups receive money and provide sexual favours to their patrons. It’s a way for the group to gain financial support and even find new opportunities in the industry. Companies can encourage such deals. Let that sink in for a moment.

6. “Any advice to those who want to become a k-pop idol?”

A lot of former idols and trainees have similar responses to this question.

“I don’t want to discourage anyone, but think twice”

“You only see the glamorous side, but don’t see all the hard work that goes into it”

“It’s not what you think”

“They think ‘Since I am good looking and can sing and dance really well, maybe I should become an idol?’, but there is much more to it“

“They think it’s something that is easy and will keep their family set for life financially”

And this implies that most people don’t know what kind of lifestyle k-pop stars truly have, despite the amount of information available online about “behind the scenes” proceedings.

7. Moving on

I am a practical person and every decision I make is subjected to scrutiny. And after seeing everything I can't help but wonder whether idols believe it's truly worth it. What keeps the industry alive is the idol-dream, the wilful ignorance of its reality and youthful idealism, the beautiful naïve belief that it'll get better, even if it never does in the end.

Sure no one would ever admit it out loud, because it's one of those things you never say on camera, no matter how sincere you have to be. It's the matter of professionalism after all, and idols have it spades. And also, because admitting this would equal admitting that you spent your best years doing something you both loved and hated, admitting that this was a mistake.

When you grow up in a society where appearances matter the most, where saving face and being polite is more important than staying true to yourself, where individuality is tolerated only to a certain point, it takes a lot of courage to admit that you need a break. I greatly respect those who decided that idol lifestyle is not for them and moved on.

8. Conclusion

To sum up, I hope you enjoyed my small research and this perspective, since you have read it all the way to the end.

You have noticed that entertainment industry is an intricate system and its every component makes sure nothing changes. Companies have power over idols and audience, fandom has power over idols and their careers, and musicians themselves have fame and their music, but not always the promised fortune or happiness.

It’s important to understand the big picture to draw your own conclusions and encourage positive and heathy attitudes in fandoms. Being open minded and allowing people to make mistakes and live their lives the way they want to is a part of being a decent person. People don’t owe anything to others. Art is about sharing your thoughts and feelings, promoting ideas and spreading beauty. It’s not always about money. And I think that this is what k-pop lacks as an industry. It turned dreams and human need for self-expression into business. Here everything is turned into a product. Everything idols touch can be sold, sometimes literally. Industry created problems, which can’t be solved anymore, because doing so would topple the system. And I find it tragic. Trapped in an endless chase after perfection creators of k-pop forgot that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.

If you take a look at comment sections and posts on different platforms, what will you see? What kind of things resonate with audience? What makes people laugh and cry? When people start to appreciate the substance?

“Everyone needs to hear this song in their darkest moments”

“Thank you for your music!”

“They always deliver! These guys can’t make a bad song!”

“It inspired me to write again!”

“Their songs brought me and my sister together once again”

“This is what happens when you let groups write their own music - they make incredible things”

“They really are legends of k-pop! I love that they are not afraid to show their inner strength”

“Stay strong! You rock!”

I believe that the answer is quite simple: when it’s real, sincere. It’s all about the message you choose to send to your audience, because only superficial things cause obsession. When you say that the sparkly façade is all that matters, then that’s the only thing people will ever care about. Your audience will never give a damn about the meaning behind dancing, music or lyrics, if you tell them that performance is more important. No one would praise WHAT k-pop idols sing, instead they would prefer wasting breath to criticize HOW they sing or look or move.

I dare the k-pop industry to prove people that it’s not just about looks or perfection, or laser shows, or being a branding machine. Prove to your fans that k-pop artists are also passionate people with big dreams and talent, who love every moment of their job, who live and inspire, who are human just like us and whose humanity is real!

Do it, you cowards!

And now, I’m finished. I can hear the raging crowd of k-pop fandom in the distance, which means it’s time to hide. See you some other time!

#k-pop #korean music #k-rock #k-pop idol #k-pop meta #k-pop discussion #k-pop fandom criticism

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